


Memento Mori

by FlamboyantProblematic, LabyrinthInSpace



Series: Memento Mori [1]
Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Blood and Gore, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Violence, non-canon backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 149,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24731581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamboyantProblematic/pseuds/FlamboyantProblematic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LabyrinthInSpace/pseuds/LabyrinthInSpace
Summary: Follow Glen Dixon in his misadventures through life as he struggles to come to terms with his sexuality and conflicted feelings for his best friend, Titus Hardie. A non-canon backstory focused on Titus Hardie, Glen, and their lives leading up to the Hardie boys.How do you know when the time is right? If it ever is. Life is fleeting and it only takes a few seconds for you to lose everything you've spent years building. Memento Mori, it means you might die tomorrow, so live every day like it's your last.Edit (14/Jan): Happy one year anniversary to the Memento Mori universe!!
Relationships: Glen/Titus Hardie
Series: Memento Mori [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788244
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All art used in this fic is by Gaith (@hardie_boi on Twitter) unless stated otherwise

**Prologue**

The cold wind runs through sunshine rays of hair as the snow crunches under heavy boots. The grey-white sky weeps frozen tears that gently sway and make their nest on top of trees and run-down buildings. You race past the decade old ruins of once homes and businesses, long forgotten by time, and you don't stop until the world is behind you, and Poseidon is in front of you. 

You fall to your hands and knees and breathe harsh icy air into your lungs, exhaling it only seconds later. Your vision is clouded by the fogs of your own breaths but you don't care. You look at the small lake in front of you, water once as blue as your eyes, now white. Small islands form themselves on top of the surface, floating merrily, not concerned by your presence. 

You push yourself up and walk closer to it, and take light steps on the makeshift jetty where a wooden boat is tied to a pole behind you. The boat was now heavy with snow. It looked bored and lonely, waiting for whoever left it to remember it. 

Your small fingers brush the snow off of its edges. It doesn't seem to mind. On the inside of the boat, you can see a small engraving. "T.H" the letters mean nothing to you. 

In its frozen embrace, the boat also holds empty bottles of "adult juice" also known as alcohol. The same bottles litter your home. You've had some of it before, it made your old man very angry. Sometimes you still sneak a sip or two before giving the bottle to him, other times you make sure to spit in it before watching him drink it down, blissfully unaware of what you've just done. There are also long forgotten cigarettes, put out for what seemed like decades. You've seen this boat dozens of times, it's always here. Always. And yet, you still look into it every time, as though it holds the key to your escape. You can untie it, sail away. Just you and the boat... 

"Howdy."

You hear a voice from behind you and it snaps you out of your daydreams. Instinctively, you curl your hand into a fist and send it crashing against the side of the stranger's face. 

He stumbles back, rubbing the spot where you struck him. "Fuuu---" he hisses. "What the hell, man?!"

You put up your fists, indicating to the stranger that you are willing to fight him if he tried anything. He didn't seem interested in doing so. 

The stranger, a thick boned kid with wide shoulders and short dark hair, narrow hazel eyes, and a sharp square shaped face looks at you. He doesn't seem that much older than yourself. He puts up his hands, letting you know he's not your enemy. A spark in his eyes tells you he's actually quite the opposite. For a moment, you're swept away by the sensation; of comfort and warmth in the harsh cold. He smiles, you raise your fists up just a little bit more. 

"It's alright," He says and gestures for you to lower your hands. You don't. "It's alright." He repeats. He dances with your demons and soothes them. You squint your eyes, he is not intimidated. He waits patiently, until the earth beneath you takes away all the tension from your body, and you finally obey his silent command and drop your defenses

He takes two steps back and leans down to pick up a spherical shaped ball that you haven't noticed before, mostly likely knocked out of his hands when you punched him. He dusts the snow off of it with great care and then puts it under his arm. It feels at home there. With his free hand, he reaches out with open fingers to you, slowly, as if moving too fast would either cause you to bounce him like a wild animal or scare you off. 

"Titus," he introduces himself. "Titus Hardie"

T.H 

You shove your hands in your pockets, only to be greeted by a hole where the cold breeze bites at your fingers. You ignore it and take a step back. He seems disappointed by that and lowers his arm. 

He looks over at the boat then back at you. "Did you want something from the boat? It's my dad's."

You respond to him by not responding. 

"She's old," he goes on regardless, moving past you and to the boat. "But she still takes us where we wanna go." He pats the boat. "Good girl."

It's silent for a while, the older boy seems as though he's musing, thinking about something in between the wooden panels of the old boat. 

"Do you like fishin'?" He asks. 

You have no answer.

He stands upright and turns his attention back to you. 

"What's your name?"

Your tongue remains rested in your mouth, unmoving. 

"How old are you?"

Nothing.

"Am I scaring you?"

Your brows knot, your expression stiffens. "No, I ain't scared!" You puff your chest, trying to seem bigger than you are.

He seems genuinely surprised by your response. "So you do talk!"

You huff, your breath shooting out of your nose like a dragon's mighty flaming smoke. 

"What's your name?" He asks again. 

You get the feeling that there's no reason to be hostile towards this random kid you just met, and yet the words beat your thoughts in this race. "None of your fuckin' business!"

He chuckles, you're somewhat taken aback by that. 

"Mighty nice to meet you, none of your fuckin' business," he puts his ball down inside the boat and then searches the snow for a pebble. He smoothes it with his finger, then collects a few more. "Wanna toss some stones in the lake?" 

He hands you a few pebbles, you don't reply but accept the small stones. 

He starts, you watch him bring his arm back, and then fling the stone across the surface of the water. You follow behind and imitate him. Your pebbles bounce, distributing the lake's peaceful slumber, the water ripples for a moment, then finds its silence again. Eventually, the pebbles lose momentum and disappear under. 

"I haven't seen anyone come up here before. Always thought no one knew this place existed," He throws another stone. "What brings you here?"

Your pebble follows his, a race to the bottom of the dark, deep unknown. You ignore his question.

He mouths an "okay" and it's silent after that. Both of you tossing stones until you run out of ammunition. 

He sits down on the wooden walkway and leaves a space for you. You stand next to him. 

Both of you watch the snow fall somewhere beyond your vision. 

It's peaceful, despite the disturbance of another presence. 

You find yourself sitting down next to the boy. You both kick your feet in the air, just above the water.

He doesn't say anything to you, it's awkward, and yet somewhat comfortable.

As though he felt the same, he started filling the silence by humming. You don't recognize the tune, so you sit and listen. 

Minutes with him turn into hours, mostly spent listening to him blabber on about whatever. By the time the sun is suffocated with clouds, and the light left the sky, you feel like you’ve just spent the day with an old friend.

“Shit,” He curses. “I have to get home before dinner,” He grabs his ball from the boat. “Wanna meet again here tomorrow? Same time?”

You hesitate, taking a moment to kick the snow with your floppy shoe but then you nod. He grins, waves goodbye, and runs off, disappearing into the shadows of the trees. 

It’s silent. 

You are suddenly overwhelmed by loneliness, and in this silence, your senses are heightened. You are reminded of the cold wind, of the water in your shoes, and the snow in your hair. It’s suffocating, it's lonesome, it's all yours... and yet, it feels more welcoming than the thought of returning to your home. 

You take one last look back at the boat, still unbothered by its position in the world, and then you leave. It's going to be a long night.

* * *

“Howdy!”

You acknowledge his presence with a nod. He takes a seat next to you. 

For a while, you share the quiet with him and watch as the water makes friends with the small icy islands on the lake’s surface. 

“That’s a nasty cut on your hand,” He says and points at a gash on your hand, skin ripped, now stuck to some broken glass somewhere back at home, you shove your hands in your jacket. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” You lie, in fact, it stings like a son of a bitch and the band-aid you plastered on it isn’t really helping.

He reaches out, his hand merely touching your arm, you push away from him, almost falling into the water in the process. 

Your lips twitch and a sound erupts from your throat that sounds a lot like a growl of a vicious stray dog. 

“Shit, man. Sorry. I just wanted to take a look.”

Deep down, you know he means well. But you can’t bring yourself to lower your walls. You can’t let yourself be weak. Men don’t let themselves be weak. 

Somehow, the disappointment in his eyes hurt you more than the burning cut on your hand. He looks away, and an apology dies on your tongue. 

Titus stands up, and for a moment you’re filled with fear, fear of him walking away, of leaving you.

_What have you done?_

You swallow the lump in your throat and try not to react. He tilts his head, gesturing for you to follow him. You blink at him, he smiles, it feels reassuring so you obey. 

The two of you walk through the trees, deeper and deeper into the forest. The crowds and crowds of trees become thicker, the place is unfamiliar to you, and yet you follow him without question. 

“Sometimes I play hide and seek with my little brother here,” He says. “His name is Tiberius. I call him Tibbs though.”

Strange names, you think. Titus and Tiberius. They sound almost unreal.

“Do you have any siblings?”

You shake your head. 

“So you only gotta look out for yourself, huh? When Tibbs does something wrong, it’s always my fault ‘cause why wasn’t I watchin’ over him? Yeah? Like that should be my business,” He sniffs. “But it ain’t so bad, I guess.”

Suddenly he stops in his tracks and puts his hand over your chest to stop you as well. He places a finger to his lips, silently telling you to hush, before pointing at a wild deer in the distance, busy with feeding on some grass. It’s a pretty thing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen something so gentle. You sit there and watch it for a long while before eventually, the sound of distant gunfire scares it off. 

Somewhere in Martinaise, a drug deal went wrong or a gang war was about to start. The two of you are unbothered by this knowledge and instead, you pick yourselves up from the snowy ground and make your way back to the lake. There were a few more gunshots on your journey back, carried by the wind, you remain unfazed.

“Do you like sports?”

You nod. 

“Do you play?”

Well, you mostly listen to the radio. But you like to pretend you play when you’re kicking the ball against the wall. 

“Do you want to play with me?”

You nod again, more enthusiastically, your golden locks bouncing up and down to match your excitement.

He grabs his ball from its usual place on the boat, it’s as white as snow, with a red line in the middle. 

“Go long!” He says and drops the ball before kicking it and sends it flying into the sky. You run after it and jump to grab it just as it was about to hit the ground. Your small frame slides against the snow but you put your arm up to show Titus that you caught the ball. The cut on your hand burns but you ignore it as you stand and shake the snow from your hair. In the distance, you see Titus with his hands cupped around his mouth and he yells, “Nice catch.”

You grin. “Thanks!” You shout back before jogging back to him, throwing him the ball when you’re close enough. 

You toss the ball back and forth until the sun sets, and you find it incredibly disappointing when it’s time to say goodbye. 

“Tomorrow?”

You nod. 

“Are you gonna tell me your name, none of your business?”

You think longly about it, he’s patient and waits for you to respond. 

“Glen Dixon.”

“Glen,” he echoes. “Cool. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Glen.”

It became a promise, and he kept it the next day, and the day after that, until days became months, and you still look forward to every tomorrow and feel lonely after every goodbye.

He has become a part of your life, stitched to you like a vein.

This kid, this random-ass kid... somehow, for some reason, saw you with holes in your clothes, bandaids all over your face, your front tooth missing, your hair a mess, and he gave a shit about you.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**(Four Years Later)**

Cold water washes over the bruises on your face, you swallow down a hiss and watch as the water turns red in the sink. Your nose is bleeding heavily, so is your lip. There are small cuts on your cheeks, your jaw, and your forehead. Your head is pounding, especially the back of your skull where your hair was continuously pulled and yanked. Your arm is dotted with purple, blue, and red. You spit into the sink then rub your nose and mouth with the back of your hand. You look at your reflection in the water, ugly as fuck, sad, pathetic, weak. You look at the cold winter eyes staring back at you, as lifeless as the pale white snow, you fucking hate it, no, you despise it... so you punch the glass and shatter it. Your knuckles bleed once again but you don’t give a fuck. You just wash the blood away before closing the tap. 

You walk outside, change your bloodied clothes, and then enter the living room, where your blood stains the old wooden floors, and pieces of broken glass lie, waiting for you to pick them up, but you don’t. On the torn up couch, sits the drunken bastard you call your father. A broad figured thing, twice your size, red on its fists. It doesn’t matter to it, it never looks at it. 

“Get me another beer, boy.”

“Fetch it yourself, you fuckin’ pig.” You growl at it. It's too wasted to care. Its already beaten you enough for today, and can’t be bothered to do it again. 

You move past it and to the door. “Where the fuck are you goin’?” its words are slurred, barely understandable, you respond by slamming the door behind you.

You meet Titus at a halfway point between your place and his. His eyes on you make you feel ashamed, so you tug on your jacket as if it could hide the bruises he knows are there. “Let’s just go.” You tell him. He nods. 

You go to your usual spot and have lunch made by Mrs. Hardie, then drink a few stolen beers. Your fourteen-year-old body is incapable of processing the beverage as well as someone who lives on it like your old man, and you know you’ll be throwing it up the next day, if not in a few hours, but it doesn’t stop you from downing the drink. It makes the pain more bearable. 

"How's morale?"

"Worse than shit."

He laughs before taking a sip of his beer. "I can tell. Fuck, man. You even look worse than shit."

"I look better than you!"

"You fuckin' wish!"

You both laugh, then his expression softens, your stomach ties itself in knots, you think it's the alcohol racing back up your guts. You swallow down the feeling and watch his heavy hooded eyes look back at you. In the silence, there are words unspoken. He worries about you. You fucking hate that. If you weren't feeling pathetic before well now you do. 

You don't want him to see you as some helpless kid. You don't want him to think you're weak!

Your body aches, your bones are tired of mending. Your heart is tired of living in fear. The excessive pounding in your chest, the oh so loud thoughts in your head. You're so fucking tired of it. You don't need this. 

You return his kind look with harshness, a smothering frozen storm that tells him you'll endure, what else can you do? It's killing you but you'll endure. 

His kindness turns into sadness, and yet there's a spark of determination and hope, his smile is a silent promise that you'll make it through this, together.

It's all you need.

He reaches out, and runs his hand through your long golden locks, twirling his fingers around the edges. You're almost tempted to lean into his touch and press your cheek against the palm of his hand. You're touch deprived, you know that. He's the only person whose fingers have shown you kindness. Your father has never been this nice to you. It was strange going through the motions for the first time, they were hard to understand. The simplest things were alien to you, things any normal human would be familiar with would leave you confused. You never understood why Titus is the way he is, why he's this nice to you. At times it makes you skeptical, but you don't want to think about that now. You just want to lean into his touch.

"You really let your hair go."

When you met four years ago, your hair was a mess, stray strands covering your forehead and half your ear, And your hair was just long enough to cover the back of your neck. Now it goes down to your shoulders. 

"Was gonna cut it."

He sits back and takes another drink. "Nah," he says. "I like it like that. It looks good on you." 

"Really?"

"Yep. Not long enough to make you a girlie, not short enough to make you look like complete shit, you look like a real pretty boy."

Pretty boy. 

It sounds insulting, and yet you feel the tips of your ears burn red under your hair. You'll accept it from him, and only him.

After you're done filling your stomachs with food and beer, you both lie down side to side and watch the blue-ish white sky. There are no birds in the sky, no sun, nothing of interest, and yet you stare. 

Titus fills the silence with small talk. You talk about anything and everything, of the world beyond Martinaise, and your future. You talk about sports, and Titus complains about school. Your old man never bothered to get you an education, so you never went to school. It doesn't sound like you're missing much anyway. He talks about his friends and women he has the hots for, and you can't shake off this dreadful feeling inside of you whenever he does.

You remember that Titus has other friends, that he's a fairly popular guy. You can tell why; he's got a big heart and a very charismatic character. He's funny, he's ambitious, he's lovable, he's everything you're not. 

A thought crosses your mind, it fills you with unspeakable fear.

One day he might find other friends, and he'll forget you... And you'll be all alone again. 

Alone with your thoughts, and the monster at home. 

Alone. 

You shiver, the cold wind was suddenly unbearable. Your old worn out jacket does little to help. 

Your stomach kicks up again, and you're almost sure you're going to throw up this time. You can't swallow it down. 

"Glen?" Titus helps you up and takes off his jacket to cover you. "Hungover already?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Well, I am!" You don't mean to bark at him, he doesn't take it kindly either. He smacks you on the back of the head and then rushes to grab his things. 

"Let's get out of here."

He doesn't take no for an answer. He drags you to the nearest diner and you both get something warm to drink.

"A bottle each from now on." He says. You roll your eyes. 

"I said I'm fuckin' fine."

He points at a bottle of water. "Drink." he isn't asking, he's demanding. You know this because he has that certain voice he uses when he's ordering people around. It's powerful and yet caring, you can't help but comply, and so you do. 

He nods in approval, you're not sure if he's nodding at you or at himself. But he seems pleased regardless. Then he focused on his drink. 

The steam from your hot cup is welcoming. You place both your hands on the cup and feel the warmth against your skin. 

You lift your head only when you hear chattering. A small group of people had stopped by the table to greet Titus. Other masculine men and petite pretty women his age. Somehow you feel like even if you were a part of their group, you would still feel alienated. 

You try to busy yourself with your drink, feeling like an awkward third wheel in this situation (yikes). But then Titus points at you. "My best friend, Glen." He introduces you to them. You feel a hint of pride at being called his BEST friend, but you play it cool.

One of them stretches his arm out to shake yours and to avoid embarrassing Titus, you shake it. 

They talk for a while longer and then leave. You didn't really pay much attention to what they were saying, something about a school party, or some other thing about the sports team. You set your now empty cup aside and Titus does the same. 

"Best friend, huh?" You chuckle, trying to sound casual and playful, but under that, you're searching for something more, for reassurance. 

"Yep. Bestest friend a man could ever ask for!" Bullshit! You're a fucking asshole with a temper, what could possibly make him think you're the best?

You toy with your cup, drawing invisible circles on the head of it and then you ask your question, again, trying to sound casual "Yeah? What makes me the best?"

Titus tilts his head, seeming genuinely confused like you've just asked the dumbest thing any human could ever possibly ask. "Well, I've known you longer, that's one thing. I know I can trust you with everythin', don't feel like I can say the same about 'em," he shrugs and smiles nonchalantly. "Also I just like you more." He says it as though it's as simple as that. Like loving you is the easiest thing he's ever done. 

You smile back at him and try not to show the sadness in your eyes. You don't deserve him. But the other part of you where your ego resides is filled with momentary confidence. You are Titus Hardie's best friend and the others can fucking suck it!

He leans forward and places his chin on top of his hand, his eyes narrow as his smile widens. A playful and confident look that he wears so well. It makes your heart forget how to function and your lungs hold in air you desperately need to breathe. "Well? Am I your best friend?" He asks.

He's your only friend.

"Don't be dumb! Of course, you are!"

"Damn right!" He sounds so cocky, and yet you admire it. Titus has always been confident, and he's not confident only for himself, but for people around him. You can't help but feel hyped up in his company. 

Even though this makes you sound like a schoolboy with a crush, you can't help but admit that you look up to him. He's perfect, you think, in every way... He's perfect, and somehow, he views you so highly, like you could ever compare to him, or heck, like you can even be his equal.

The two of you walk home, another hard farewell. He hugs you goodbye and you try not to grip onto him like a lifeline. "Kick his ass, Glen."

You smile. The sun and all its warmth leave your body when you take off his jacket to hand it back to him. He folds it on his arm and with one final wave, he's gone. 

You watch him leave until he disappears into the corner of the street, and as though his presence is the titan that keeps your depression from crushing you when he leaves, it all comes crashing down. You feel your heart beat grief into your veins, and all the dark thoughts in your mind come attacking all at once. 

You sigh and go inside, hoping to be able to make it to your room without incident. 

The light flickers as you turn it on, beer bottles litter the floor just like always. It smells like a farm so you open the window and start picking up the broken glass and crushed beer cans from the floor, putting as many as you can in plastic bags and placing all of them behind the door so you can take them out tomorrow. 

You pass by the spot where you were stapled to the floor earlier, with its weight on top of you, raining hell's fury on your smaller figure. You never remember what you did wrong, you only remember the anger boiling inside of you. The desire to make it stop once and for all.

Some years ago you would cry and beg and plead for it to stop. You would promise to be a better son. You'll be a good little boy. You were scared. It told you to man the fuck up, that men don't cry, they don't beg. You had to stifle your screams of pain as it beat the life out of you, sometimes until you were unconscious. But that never stopped it from breaking your bones. It never regrets a single drop of blood. You think that it might even get some sort of sick enjoyment out of watching you hurt. 

You stopped feeding into its twisted fantasies where you were the helpless little boy that it could smack around, you started fighting back. Although that only got it angrier, you felt more satisfied fighting back than doing nothing. 

When you pass by its room, you stand in front of it, staring at the door, your mind engulfed in thoughts, of going in there and smothering it to death. It would be so easy. It would struggle and fight, just like you do when it pins you to the floor, and then it'll stop moving, forever. No more punching, no more kicking. 

You think it would be better to smother it with a pillow but at the same time, you want to use your hands, to wrap your fingers around its throat so you can feel the life slip out of it, and feel it turn cold. Maybe even press hard enough to snap its neck. 

But you know that's not how it'll go. You'll try to kill it and then it'll overpower you and you'll be dead in seconds. 

The thought of killing it though, it's comforting. It brings you some solace, just enough for you to find it a little bit easier to fall on your bed, and find sleep. Another restless slumber. You never feel less tired the next day. But you'll manage.

You always do.


	3. Chapter 2

****

**Chapter 2**

"And there she goes."

Your ball lands in the water with a bloop after you've kicked it a bit too far. Titus and you chase it but now comes the hard part.

"Well, you kicked it in there so." He shrugs.

You sigh and take off your jacket and shirt, followed by your pants. "You better not fuckin' throw 'em in the water, T, or I swear---!" A promise of a reckoning.

He puts his hands up in defense. "I won't." Despite his honest tone, there's a glint in his eyes that tells you to be cautious. 

The water does not look inviting. It looks cold, with a thin sheet of snow covering it, and the thought of going in it is more than unpleasant. You could almost feel the ice feasting on your skin. But standing here with the freezing wind against your flesh, biting and scratching at you as it speeds by is not any better, so you jump in, and swim towards the ball that was now carried away by the tides. The icy water is painful against your scars and wounds but as the numbness kicks in, it becomes easier to cope. 

Before you can turn around and swim back to land, you feel something grip your waist. Your first instinct is to kick, and so you do. You kick whatever it was holding you, only to end up being dragged underwater. You push against the figure holding you, it grips on tighter. Enraged, you blindly throw punches and manage a few successful hits. The figure is unconcerned by your attacks, however. Air becomes bubbles that float to the surface of the water, and you try desperately to follow them. You need to breathe. 

You struggle, and struggle, and wonder where the fuck Titus is during all this because he must have seen you go under. (He probably thinks you’re playing some dumb trick on him, let’s be honest. You would totally do that) And then suddenly, you’re being taken back to the surface, and you gasp for air the moment your head is over water. You hear laughing behind you, loud and booming. You turn around, fist clenched, and you hit your attacker square in the face, fully knowing it was your dumbass friend.

“Fuck!” He yelps and holds his now bleeding nose. “What the fuck, man?”

“You son of a bitch!” You yell back at him. He ducks his head under the water again and washes the blood off, numbing the pain of your punch with the cold water before coming up again and shaking his head, sending water flying everywhere. 

You calm down when you see the shit-eating grin on his face, he floats on his back and swims around you until you join him. Just like they, all anger is gone.

The sky above your head is a beautiful orange, night would fall soon, but you make no haste to leave the water. You stay, and drift with him, letting the water take you where it wants. He hooks his arm with yours to keep you from separating. Your hair under you is a golden bed spread across the water, you can hear the gentle blue swishing gently as Titus paddles to keep you afloat and stop the water from taking you too far. You hear him breathing calmly, and you match his rhythm. 

You could fall asleep like this, under the sky, in this peace, with him, hearing him exhale, breathing, alive. You're thankful to be alive. Life in Martinaise isn't the easiest, it's far from it. Cops have not been around for ages. The people have been abandoned. There was no one to run to, no one to call to save you. There was no law to keep people safe. No order. With that sort of power absent, crime became rampant. 

The clouds above your head form a scene, of small kids with guns, of people your age overdosing on drugs, of big men tearing down businesses of people just trying to get by. 

You wonder if there is any cop in this damn world who would care enough about you, about what's happening to you behind closed doors. Would they rush to your aid if you called? 

The thoughts are bitter. You feel no love for these so-called "law-men". They're pigs. Just that. If they gave a fuck they'd be here right now. They would have been here years and years ago. Instead, Martinaise is just left to fend for itself, and the people? They only hope to survive. 

Martinaise was the land of the hopeless, of the homeless, of the lonely, of the saddest fucks on the face of this planet. This is where people end up when they're on the run, when they have nowhere else to go. It was home, regardless of how dangerous and pathetic it was... It was home. 

Your thoughts get carried by the wind and disappear with the sun, the sky turns dark but there are no stars. You swim back to shore and prepare a cozy little fire. Titus sits next to you, his more developed body makes you feel insignificant. He's bigger, stronger, and you can't help but take in the sight of him. 

There's a strange overwhelming sensation in your chest that traps your heart in a tight space, as though your rib cage has closed around it, and yet your heart pounds and beats in the small confined space.

He looks like he belongs on the cover of a sports magazine. Huge men flexing their muscles, holding balls, looking confident, proud. He has their features; their sharp jaws, their winning smile, and their ambitious eyes. He should be right there with them. 

You get an irresistible urge to touch him just to know what it's like to be him, to run your fingers across his arms and feel him; his warmth, his strength, his rough skin. The thought dries your lips. 

Your own body fails to compare to his. You think then that you understand the feeling in your chest. Envy. You envy how attractive Titus is. 

He finally notices you and gives you a side glance, you look away immediately and reach for a water bottle. Shivers run down your spine and your body feels like it's just been put through an electric shock. 

You drink the entire bottle just to cool off. Suddenly you feel like you don't mind going back into the cold water. 

After drying off and putting your clothes back on, you set up your sleeping bags and lie down side by side. Somewhere unknown to you, crickets sing, the bushes rustle with wildlife, and life slowly begins to switch off. 

You don't sleep, not for a long time. Instead, you and Titus exchange scary stories. He explains cryptids to you, and you argue about how real they are. 

The fire crackles, slowly dimming. You finally find sleep after the death of the final flame. 

* * *

You wake before the sun, the sound of Titus evenly breathing is in harmony with mother nature. You move to your side to face him. He looks very peaceful. You fall into line with his breathing, up... down... up... down. The world around you follows.

Then it stops. 

His eyes flutter open, beautiful narrow hazel eyes look back at you with a lazy smile. 

"Howdy." A familiar greeting.

"Howdy." You echo. 

He moves around in his sleeping bag, trying to get more comfortable. When he fails, he stretches his arms out of the bag and yawns before deciding to get up. 

You snake your way out of your bag as well and watch him stretch for a while before joining him. You follow his morning work-out routine and then decide to go for a jog across the lake.

You note small findings you discover on your way, and stop whenever you find something worth investigating, like an old shack you found just behind a thick patch of trees. The thing looks abandoned and run down. There wasn't much inside, but you think it might have belonged to a lumberjack. 

Titus struggles to get the old axe from where it was lodged on a log, the thing was no longer as sharp as it most likely was in its glory days. The handle almost broke off when Titus pulled it out. 

Inside the shack, there were torn down photos of a fishing club, some band posters that you don't recognize, and shattered frames, once inhabited with photos. Whoever lived here left a long time ago, and you can't help but wonder why. 

"This would be a nice place for us to crash and have secret parties." 

You snicker. "Secret parties?"

"Yeah. Booze parties." 

"Drug parties."

"That too."

He stood there for a moment, a hand under his chin, finger rubbing his jaw. He seemed to be deep in thought so you waited for him to be ready to share his idea with you. 

"You know... my dad has some tools. We can fix this place up and make it look a bit... cooler."

"Sounds good." 

You don't really question what he means by 'cooler'. It just sounds existing enough for you so whatever.

He nods, more to himself than at you.

You make a mental note of the shack and then continue your jog. The howling of the wind fills the silence in between your chatting. You return to your camp and pack up before finding the nearest place to have breakfast. 

"So," Titus continues with what he was previously saying in between drinks and chunks of eggs and bacon. "He starts gettin' aggressive, and I'm gettin' annoyed," you nod, listening with great interest. "He's all bark and no bite. I tell him if he wants to start shit then he should grow a pair," you chuckle. "He throws a punch, big mistake. We get into a fight, he pulls a knife. I try to knock it out of his hand, and we're goin' back and forth. People around yellin' and cheerin' like it's a god damn boxin' ring," he pauses to take another drink then rolls up his sleeve and shows you a scar on his arm. "Stabs me in the arm."

"What a pussy! Brings a knife to a fistfight! It's 'cause he knows he can't beat you, T!"

He nods, pride fills his chest as he breathes. You're enamored by his confidence, and again, you feel like a schoolboy with a crush. 

"I know right? What a fuckin' tool." 

"What happened next?" 

"I get the knife out of his hand, right? And we fight," he clenches his fist. "I give him one of these, right in the face. One, two, and I knock his lights out!" He puts his hands next to his lips and cups them to imitate a megaphone then goes, "and the crowd is chanting "Hardie! Hardie! Hardie!". It was fuckin' great, man. I think I got a future as a boxer." He flexes, you nod enthusiastically. 

"Yeah! You'd make a great boxer!"

He chuckles and then finishes up his plate. "Anyway, I got into a lot of trouble with my parents that day. The school called them of course. That's why I had to sneak out to meet with you that day. Heard the bitch had to get stitches and haven't seen his face in school since. Maybe he got expelled. Maybe he's too much of a pussy to show his face."

"I bet! No one messes with Titus Hardie!"

"Damn right!"

After your meal, you and Titus leave. You venture around Martinaise, hoping to find something of interest to do. You pass by many familiar faces, they greet you kindly, you greet back. The people of Martinaise all look well above their age, tired of their hardships, molded and shaped by the sweat of their brow. Many of them were a little loopy, especially the old woman living by herself. You heard that she once had kids, but they left. You and Titus visit her every now and then. She rambles, it doesn't always make sense. But she's kind to you. She often even shelters you when you don't want to go home and you can't stay outside in the cold.

Aside from her, there are some children who spend time "expressing their artistic talents" by vandalizing the walls with graffiti, children too young to write the word "fuck" spray paint it all across abandoned broken down buildings, forgotten by time, "The pigs" usually followed the vulgar word. You share their resentment. 

Those same kids probably know where their daddies hide the big guns, and one day they will end up carrying them to the streets and shooting one another. 

If not that then they would drink themselves to death or overdose on drugs. If there were three easy things you could get in Martinaise then they would be liquor, guns, and drugs. 

The thought should have bothered you more, the thought of children, your age, younger, older, kids who have not even begun to live, dying because they had no one to tell them right from wrong, no fathers to worry about them, no mothers to cry over them. They were simply brought into this world and then left to fend for themselves... just like you. But it has become such a normal part of life that the thought of dying young is no longer unheard of. 

If your father doesn't kill you, then Martinaise will. 

It's a shitty living, but it is what it is. 

You look up at the sky, the sand in your hourglass is about to run out, it's time to go home. The road is like glass under you, digging deeper and deeper into the sole of your feet. Every step is painful. 

Titus senses your discomfort and puts a hand on your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. 

"You don't have to go."

You nod. You know you don't have to... today. But eventually, you will. 

"Stay at my place."

There you go, worrying him again. Dragging him into your shit again.

"I'll be fine," you fake a confident grin. "What? You don't think I can take my old man on?"

He's not convinced by your charades. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow." 

He hesitates, but there's little he can do when you leave him standing there in the cold and go inside your house. You close the door behind you, then wait a while until you hear him walk away. As the sound of his footsteps fades, you begin to think you've made a big mistake. You want to open the door and run after him... But you swallow your fear and decide to face the monster like a man. 

The wooden floor creaks underneath your weight and you curse under your breath. You reach for the light switch and flick it open. Hallow eyes pierce your soul from the couch. Her Innocence has forgotten you tonight. 

"Where have you been, boy?"

You stand upright, burying your fear and letting your anger drive you. "Out with a friend," you tilt your head, trying to look like the bigger man as you spit, "fuck if that matters to you though."

The long broad figure stands and quickly becomes larger than you, its shadow engulfs you as it approaches. You stand your ground, preparing to reach for one of the beer bottles next to you in defense. 

You meet its glaring eyes, and it grabs you by the collar of your shirt. "You don't leave the house without tellin' me."

"I did tell you, you dumb fuck! You were just too fuckin' wasted to give a shit!"

It slams you against the wall, the back of your head is pounding at the force of the impact but you shake it off. You reach for the glass bottle, and by the mighty above, you know you shouldn't do this because hell's fury hath no mercy, and yet, against your better judgment, you smash the bottle over the monster's head. It shrieks in pain and releases you, allowing you a moment to get away. 

You try to make a dash for your room but it grabs you and drags you back. It spits words at you that you cannot comprehend from its fuming anger, but you see the first punch and turn your head away from it, causing it to hit the floor instead. The wood threatens to break, a crack in between it tells you that it won't survive another hit. 

You roll from under the beast's form but it doesn't let you get very far. It grabs you by your hair and drags you back. The first hit connects, the second hit connects, you've already lost. 

But god damn it! You will not go down without a fight!

You open your jaw as wide as you could and bite down on its hand, sinking your teeth into its flesh. It yelps and tries to push you, but you don't let go. A strike on the head, you don't let go. You feel its blood flow as you press down harder, its skin almost coming loose. You taste the rosey metallic blood on your tongue like poison. You want to spit it out but also drink it down. 

It punches you with its free hand continuously, and yanks on your hair painfully, until you release it from your shark-like grip, and throws you to the ground. 

"You little shit!" It spits at you. "I'm going to gut you and string up with your own insides!" 

You don't doubt that it will, if given the chance.

You wish you had hugged Titus goodbye.

It approaches again and you ready yourself for its attack. Your heart pounds in your chest like war drums banging loud in your ears, the wooden floor beneath you weeps for you with every step the monster takes. 

And then... it comes crashing down. 

It happened so quickly, and yet so slow. The tall figure stepping on a lonesome beer bottle, falling back and hitting its head against the edge of a small wooden table, before greeting the floor with a loud thud. 

It doesn't get up. 

You look down at the beer bottle and thank it for its sacrifice before making a dash to the door, picking up your bag on your way out. No way you're staying home tonight after this. If it had any memory of what happened when it woke, it would surely try to slit your throat while you sleep.

You run, run back to the lake, your safe bubble. It can't follow you here. You hide on the boat and cover yourself up from the cold. 

You made it through. Somehow, you made it through. And if luck decides to pour you another round, then that fall would have been strong enough to wipe its entire memory, or better yet, kill it. 

You run your tongue over your teeth, the taste of blood is still heavy on your tongue. It tastes like victory. 

You don't dare look at your reflection in the rippling water. The pain in the back of your skull tells you all you need to know. 

The sound of the water sweeping against the jetty was soothing, the lake rocked you like a small child in its arms and you curl up into a ball to try and find your peace for the night. The cold is vicious but it's better than home.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Red glaring eyes stare at you from the darkness. You recognize the figure as it stands, blood dripping from its head. Your instincts tell you to run, but there's nowhere to go. It made sure you wouldn't run away this time. 

Its long masculine arm stretches out and rough fingers wrap around your throat, instantly squeezing. You fight, you kick, you struggle, you punch. It doesn't give a fuck. 

"Look at you," it says, voice heavy and deep. "You think you're a man?" It brings you to a mirror and lets you see how insignificant you are in its grip. You're nothing. It could snap your neck with ease if it wanted to. "Who works? Who pays for the roof over your head? Who puts food on the table?" 

You don't respond, both because you don't want to and because you can't. You doubt this was a serious question anyway, and if you had responded, you would just be stroking the monster's ego. 

"You know what you do? You clean and bring me my shit when I ask you to."

You hate its words, no, you *loathe* them. Every word, you fucking loathe it. 

"I wanted a son, and instead she gave me you."

Your poor mother... When you think of her, its always a haze. You can't even remember what she looks like. It does not keep any photos of her. It killed her, you think. Beat her to death. And you're next. 

"She gave me another one of her," it goes on. "Just a bitch with a strap on."

"Shut up!" You finally break your silence, but it does not care for your voice. 

"You're like a good little housewife, that's what you are."

Your blood boils in your veins, it does not give a fuck about your rage. It fucking fuels it. You feel its fingers in your hair, carding through it as if you were a toy in its hand that it's fixing up. You feel sick to the core, and trying to swallow your spit does nothing to push this sickness down. 

And then you're slammed face-first against the mirror, shattering it. The glass digs into your skin, and you fail to contain a gasp. You try to push away from the glass, which only results in the shards digging into your palms. 

"Let go of me!"

It presses you against the glass even harder as it leans down. Its breath against your skin is vile. "Cry, f*ggot."

You push against it. You won't give it the satisfaction of seeing the tears that you've yet given yourself the freedom to shed. 

"Cry, you little pussy!" It demands.

You would rather fucking die.

Your blood stains the glass, and you don't dare open your eyes in fear that the glass would betray you. There's little you can do and yet you push and push, a loud yell of pure fury escapes your throat, and you feel your head lifting from the broken shards. Somehow, some-fucking-how, you're overpowering it. There are bits of glass stuck to your skin, they sting, but that's nothing compared to the pain in your hand. The more pressure you apply, the more the shards sink into your palm. 

You don't care!

You don't care!

All that matters now is you're overpowering him. And with enough distance between you and the glass, you're finally free, and when he lets you go, you fall

And fall

And fall. 

The ground is nowhere to be found, and yet, you don't feel frightened. It's an almost peaceful fall. 

When you put your hands up to the ever-fading sky, your blood drops turn into little pearls and vanish into the eternal darkness. 

Perhaps you're dead. Perhaps the cold got you while you slept and this was the end, letting go of that one final fear.

You think of Titus... You don't remember your last words to him. 

"I'll see you tomorrow" the darkness answers.

But you won't. You'll never see him again. 

You wonder how he'll react when he finds you. Will he regret? Will he cry? 

He has other friends. He'll soon forget you. Maybe it's for the better. 

You'll miss him... every day of this eternity, if days exist, you'll miss him. 

When you close your eyes, you can't stop your tears from flowing. They too turn into pearls and fade. You're not sure why you're crying but it feels as though a weight has been lifted. 

"Glen." Heaven calls for you, you think it has to be heaven. It sounds so much like an angel calling. "Glen!" It calls again. You're ready.

"Wake up you fuckin' dumbass!"

Your eyes snap open. The cover over your head had been lifted. You see the grey-ish blue sky, and the familiar hazel eyes of your best friend.

You feel disappointed but somewhat relieved. 

Titus looks at you, concern and worry written all over his face.

"Are you cryin'?" 

You wipe your face, there is a stream of fresh tears running down your cheek.

"No," you lie. "It's just water."

He doesn't believe you but he doesn't push the subject. "What happened? I went to your place and threw pebbles at your window. You didn't answer."

"I think beer killed my old man."

He tilts his head. "That old fuck finally drank himself to death?"

"No. He slipped on a bottle and hit his head pretty hard. I didn't wanna stick around for when he woke up," a pause and then you correct yourself, "if he woke up."

“Shit, man."

"Yeah."

"Well, best case scenario is he's dead. Worst case scenario is he's not and he's gonna be pissed as fuck."

You sigh. 

Fuck.

Pushing yourself up to your feet, you walk to the lake to wash your face. Despite feeling light in your dreams, you now feel like the whole world is on your shoulders and you can barely find the energy to move. The cold water is refreshing but does little to help with the weight. You pick yourself off of the ground and take your first good look at your friend. He wants answers that you’re unwilling to give him, and he understands, so he doesn’t say anything. You walk past him and to your bag, picking it up from the boat. 

“Don’t you have school?” You tell him.

“Yeah, and?”

“Well, you’re not in school.”

“And?” He repeats.

You chuckle. “Why didn’t you go?”

He looks out to the lake for a moment, the wind tugs at his jacket. He shoves his hands in his pockets then looks back at you. “I guess I had a feelin’ somethin’ was wrong.”

“Dickhead. You’re gonna get in so much trouble. Your mom and dad are gonna have a field day if they knew."

“Bail me out, will ya?”

You smile and nod. “Of course!”

He wraps an arm around you and pulls you close as he laughs. You feel the weights on your shoulders lift. The worst part of the morning has passed. 

You decide to pass time in the heart of Martinaise. On your walk there he shares his breakfast/lunch with you since you haven’t had anything to eat. It’s easy to fall into your typical rhythm of blabbers. He tells you about how he spent his time last night, arguing with his parents at the dinner table, bickering with his little brother, listening to the sports station on the radio. 

“And then there were gunshots outside,” He said. “Probably some kids got their hands on an old cache,” He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “You’d think these guns would stop workin’ after bein’ buried for so long.” He sniffed then rubbed his nose with his palm. “Anyway, my dad took his rifle and chased them off. They shot at my window, bullets flyin’ everywhere.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep,” He stopped next to a book stand, a sports magazine seemingly catching his attention, he flipped through it before he went on. “But anyway, with one shot from the rifle, they were sent scurrying like bugs.” He put the magazine down, you look at it, the words on it mean nothing to you. You can’t read them. But the photos? Now, that's something you can understand. 

The cover is that of a rugby player, well-toned, masculine, sharp features, square jaws, short brown hair, winning smile. He looked confident, cocky… manly. You open the magazine and see the local boxing champion, like the rugby player, he was also big, burly, and strong. You think touching his chest would feel like running your hand across smooth stone. They must work out like crazy, you think. Your eyes linger, taking in their shape and then you look back at Titus who was occupied flipping through another magazine, you take in his form, similar to those in the magazines, and you suddenly wonder what it would be like to touch his bare chest and you’re almost tempted to touch your own, just to see the difference. 

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts, your face turns red in embarrassment and you close the magazine, deciding to wait on the side till Titus is done.

The older man pulls up a magazine and turns it towards you. A beautiful slender, milky skinned woman, with curly blonde hair going down her back, long dark eyelashes, red lipstick, stuck mid fly-kiss, probably a singer or something, gracing the entire page. 

You don't really understand what you are supposed to be looking at, at first, until Titus points at her chest.

Oh.

Two round globes that could smother you. If that ain't the way to go. 

You take a better look by peeking over his shoulder. 

"Nice. Look at the size of those things!"

"Mhm," he hums. After a few more seconds of staring, he closes the magazine. "Anyway we don't wanna bust any nuts here. We can do that later. Come on." 

You nod and follow him. 

On your way back to the lake, someone bumps into you, almost knocking you down. “Fucker.” The person yells, they sound young. When you look at him, you see three more kids, they look older than yourself, around Titus’s age, or younger by a year.

“Hey!” Titus intervenes. “You bumped into my friend. It’s kind to apologize.”

The boy spits on Titus, “fuck you, cunt.”

Your friend raises his fist, and the boy is quick to pull a shiv from his sleeve, threatening Titus with it. He does not seem concerned by it, if anything, he is smirking at the puny little blade that could still definitely kill you if stabbed enough times or if it was dug deep enough. He must be feeling really lucky. 

“You don’t wanna do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

There are four of them, two of you. You carefully step next to Titus, standing up straight, trying to puff your feathers and appear bigger than you are. They look unintimidated by your attempt. 

“Just apologize and go home.” Titus wants to defuse the situation and tell these kids they’re being dumb as fuck, but clearly, they’re not getting the message. They attack, and there’s no going back after that.

Luckily your frequent arguments with your old man have made you a decent fighter. The first thing you focus on is disarming the ones with weapons. You pin one of them down, slamming their hand against the ground again and again until they let go of the blade, and then you punch them across the face. Before you land another hit, you’re pulled off of him by another one of them. You bend your back and throw them over your shoulder, stomping on their chest as soon as they hit the ground to keep them down. You’re surprised by your own strength. The adrenaline rushes through your veins like a drug, you can certainly get high on this. 

The first person you knocked down tackles you, pulling you off his friend. You wrestle on the ground. Your hand blindly searches for the shiv on the ground and when you take a hold of it, you roll on top of the older boy and stab him in the palm with it, digging it deep enough to lodge the blade into the earth beneath. The boy screams in pain, but you feel no remorse. 

Once again you’re pushed off the boy and sent into another fight that ends with your knuckles bloodied, and the kid beneath you battered and bruised. His face becomes unrecognizable, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. It feels good, and the feeling surges through your entire body. Your bones ache in delight, your muscles pulse with power. It's euphoric.

“Stop,” A voice behind you says, but it’s muffled, unimportant. You put your fist up, but the figure behind you grabs it before you can land the punch. “He’s had enough, Glen.”

Your fist unclenches and you inhale your fury back into your body, trapping it back inside your rip cage. You come down from your high, and roll off the beaten body under you. 

The boy is shaking as he stumbles to his feet, his friends have long fled. You let him follow. You thought you could hear him crying as he runs past you, it fills you with a strange, twisted satisfaction.

“What the fuck, man? You went a little too hard on those kids back there.”

You have nothing to say in your defense so you just shrug. 

Titus gives you a look, a look you despise. You’ve done something wrong in his eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to apologize, so you simply walk off. 

The sound of the waves soothe you and carry your guilt with it when it withdraws. Titus sits next to you, and silence looms for a while before he finally breaks it. “You okay?” A pause, as though he realizes how fucking idiotic that question was. “I mean… I know you’re not okay, okay. But…”

“What makes you think I’m not okay?” You pull your legs close to your chest and rest your chin on your knees.

“I don’t know. It just feels like,” He struggles with words. “A gut feelin’ I guess.”

“I’m fine.” Well, as fine as you can be in your situation anyway. 

“Are you wonderin’ what happened to your old man?”

A part of you is curious, but right now you’re living in the blissful reality where he is dead, and you want to keep living in this reality.

“I’ll stay over with you tonight.”

Fuck him. Fuck him! 

“No.”

He laughs, you blink in confusion and turn to look at him. “That wasn’t a question, you idiot.” It was a decision he made, and you can’t say no to it but you try anyway.

“No!” You say again, a little louder. He smacks you on the back of the head.

“Shut up. You’re gonna need someone to help you hide the body if he’s dead.”

“And if he’s not?"

“Then we kill him." He jokes. 

Often times, you would be down for some of Titus's golden humor, but you're just not feeling it right now. “T, I’m serious.”

“Relax, Glen. We’ll figure it out," he points at the lake. "Now wash that shit off your hand. You look like my dad after he just cleaned his game."

You look at your hand and see the blood on your knuckles, the force of your blows now leaving a visible mark on your skin. You kneel down in front of the water and watch your shaky reflection before shattering it by putting your hand into the lake. The water bites at your cuts, it stings enough to draw a hiss out of you. Titus watches you patiently from he stands next to the boat, but then gets occupied with mother nature's beauty when the breeze turns his attention to something far off the lake. 

"Sometimes I think about what it would be like to live somewhere else," he says. "I wonder what it's like outside of Martinase," It sounds like he's musing so you're not sure if he's talking to you, but then his eyes meet yours. "But I see people comin' to Martinaise to run away from other places all the time so... guess we're lucky."

"I guess so."

As strange as it seemed, perhaps you were lucky. 

You look at your hands again, you're gonna need some band-aids. Just more to plaster over your body... your face is always covered in them. 

"Wanna take the boat out for a quick sail?"

"Wouldn't your old man be pissed about you takin' the boat?"

"Do you care if he does? 'Cause I sure don't."

He gets into the boat and grabs the paddles. You take your seat opposite of him. You don't travel very far, but you're far enough to feel far from home. 

Despite what you and Titus just said, you wonder if one day... The two of you could just run away. Away from this shitty life in Martinaise, away from your father. Just sail somewhere else. You find yourself daydreaming about it. The sound of the paddles pushing the water back becomes background noise, and Martinaise is but a dream. 

"Glenny?"

You blink back into reality and look at Titus. "Yeah?"

"Your head looked like it was about to explode. Whatcha thinkin' about?"

You open your mouth to tell him, but you realize how dumb it would sound, so you settle for saying, "nothin'."

He laughs. "I would usually believe that. But really, what's up?"

No escaping his all-knowing eyes. "First of all, fuck you, alright?"

He snorts. "You're too young to be fuckin' anyone, maybe when you're 18."

You were not ready for that, and he bursts into laughter at the shocked and embarrassed look on your face. You punch him on the shoulder. "Shut up!"

He calms down then gestures for you to go on. "Anyway, you were sayin'?"

You shrug, best you can do is make this sound as casual as possible. "Just thinkin' about runnin' away. I don't gotta go back and know what happened to him, you know?"

"You don't. But you can't just run away."

A sigh escapes you. Of course, you can't. "Yeah. I know. I got balls, gotta do shit like a man."

Your gaze falls upon your hands once again, and your fingers trace the little cuts on your knuckles. 

"Does it hurt?"

"What?"

"Your hand?"

No. There's a tingling sensation in your bones, the remains of your euphoric high, the last bits of adrenaline, a new drug. "Nah," you fake a grin. "I've taken a worse beatin' than that."

"You sure have. But you gave 'em a beatin' of a lifetime!"

You flex, your muscles are nothing like the men in sports magazines, but you still feel strong. Titus' laughter is loud, echoing in the open field around you, carried by the breeze to the ends of the world. It puts a genuine smile on your face. 

After spending some time in the open water, Titus paddles back, racing the sun back to shore, back to reality, back to Martinaise. You grab your things and prepare to discover the truth you've been escaping. Titus accompanies you home. You don't want to open the door, but you turn the handle regardless and walk in. Titus follows closely behind. 

Your nose is attacked with the strong stench of booze and smoke. There are new beer cans on the floor, the spot where it had fallen was but a faded red stain. 

It did not die. You should have known, it takes more than a fall to kill the devil. 

Titus looks down at the dried blood again on the floor, seeming more disappointed at it than the state of the farm you call home. 

"Well, that's a bummer."

"Let's get inside my room before he comes out of his and starts shootin' at us."

You lock the door behind you and drop your bag. Titus takes off his shoes and his jacket, you mimic him. You think he's about to strip down to his underwear (which is how he usually sleeps when it's not too cold) and your eyes are glued to him, watching him adjust his shirt, but he doesn't take it off. You feel oddly disappointed by that. 

He grabs your sleeping bag and spreads it across the floor. 

"You can have the bed." You say. 

"Nah. I'm fine." 

"Do you want somethin' else to wear. You'll probably find somethin' in my cabinet."

"You need to change. You look like shit."

"Yeah?" You smile. "Well, I feel like shit too, least I'm grade-A shit."

He chuckles. 

You grab something to wear and head to the bathroom. Not that you don't want Titus to see you changing, you actually really just gotta piss, so you do your thing and as you strip, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the cracked mirror, still recovering from your punch, put back together, but it will never be the same.

You look at your body. 

Not slim, but not masculine. You're wider than the average teenager, but not as well built as someone like Titus. You step closer to the mirror and look at your chest, at the scars, at the growing hair that tells you that your position in the world has been chosen for you. Curiously, you run your hand down the center, it does not feel like smooth stone but the sensation is not unpleasant. Your fingers explore the maps of you, tracing your arm, your neck, your sides. Your hips are lean, like those burly men, you think. Broad shoulders, slim hips. The shape that defines them, gives them their beauty. 

Beauty. You think these men are attractive. Their figure is attractive. Their features, the sweat on their skin, their muscles... Their aggression. They're powerful, strong, manly.

Your body finds your thoughts appealing, every nerve in your body is calling for your fingertips. The lower you go, the better it feels. 

Your hands remind you of earlier, of your own power, of the blood on your knuckles, of how it felt like to be in control. It almost makes you moan. 

You think about Titus, of what it would feel like to touch him the way you're touching yourself. Would it feel any different? Would his muscles feel different? Would his skin feel different? You close your eyes and imagine the roads of scars on his body, and you remember how the water slid off his skin that day when you went swimming. He looked so breath-taking, a prime example of what a man should look like. 

Your breathing becomes more ragged, but everything feels so fucking good. You allow yourself a small soft moan and then curl your fingers around the fabric in your hands. It feels so good, so good, so good. 

And then your eyes snap open

And you realize where your hand has gone. You release yourself with a gasp and step away from the mirror in shock and terror, only to rush back a few seconds later to turn on the water faucet and wash your face. 

Oh fuck.

You look at yourself for a moment, feeling disgusted with what you've just done. Disgusted with your thoughts. Disgusted to know where it would have gone. 

What the fuck?

What's happening to you?

Puberty, your answers. It's been knocking on your door for a while, now it's forcing it's way in and wants you to acknowledge a different aspect of it. It's not about your muscles, not this time.

You quickly put on something to wear and head back to your room where Titus has occupied himself, playing with the rugby ball. 

"What took you so long? I thought you fell in there or somethin'."

You're too embarrassed to say anything so you just jump on your bed. He turns to his side and supports the weight of his head on his arm.

"Heard the door outside. Your old man is probably lookin' for a late-night drink," he reaches inside the sleeping bag and pulls two beer cans. "Good thing I snuck some in before he came out."

He tosses you a beer and cracks his open. You drink and you chat, and you hold your breath every time you hear a noise outside. 

You won't find any sleep tonight. 


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**(2 years later)**

You watch the crane move boxes over your head. The place where you stand is bustling with life. People shouting, moving constantly. The air is heavy with the stench of sweat, men, larger than yourself, carry equipment and materials back and forth, following orders, and you stand in the middle of the storm, trying to keep up with the pace.

Despite the cold, the older men work only in their tank tops. As for you, you have a short-sleeved shirt on with your jacket worn around your waist. 

Your body has changed tremendously over the past two years. Now 16, your body is closer to that of an adult. Your thick bones make you look bigger than your age, you've also become quite tall, not as tall as the men you work with, but tall enough to pass for an adult. This job has made it easy for you to gain the psyche of a weight lifter, and yet you gaze upon the other men still, and you admire their build. You find the sight of them strangely enticing. 

You want to be like them, you tell yourself, and ignore the way your heart pumps blood into your lower body. It doesn't help that the place is full of sweaty grunting men. Kind of awkward if you think about it. 

One of the men pass you by, he looks down at you and gives you a side smile. You forget to breathe for a moment. Your dick has some thoughts to give, but you ignore it. Shaking your head, you pick up the boxes and get back to doing your job. Your body be damned. Its been malfunctioning for a while now.

On your break, you gather with the others. They hand you a cold can of beer and talk about their lives; Their wives, their one night stands, their families. Things you can't relate to. 

You feel oddly out of place, and so your thoughts drift, and when you close your eyes, you travel to somewhere different. At first, the place seems familiar. The soft breeze, the swaying water, and laughter. You smile to yourself. 

Your best friend is talking but you can't hear what he's saying, regardless, you are overcome with joy, so you watch his lips move, and his hands motion. It's peaceful. You want to just curl up next to him and shield one another from the cold. 

The big burly men asked you about him once. Titus stands by the entrance of your workplace daily and waits for you, they were curious. You told them he was your best friend, but they mocked you and laughed. He's your boyfriend, they said, and they called you queer. It was just a joke but it got to you and made you lash out. You wanted to defend your masculinity, Titus's masculinity. You are not freaks!

The lake disappears before your very eyes, the howling of the cold wind is but an echo in the world outside. You now remember withered walls, broken windows, alcohol dripping from discarded bottles. 

"F*ggots," You hear its unkind well-known voice speak, as it looks out the window, cigarette in one hand, a bottle of beer in the other. You sit next to it and turn to see what it was looking at. Two men, walking side by side, chatting, laughing. They didn't look unusual to you. The thing next to you lifts its hand, makes a gun with its fingers, and imitates the sound of a gunshot. "Right in their pussies," it looks at you, "men like them don't got no dicks, boy. No balls."

You take another look at them, they don't seem different than yourself. You panic but don't show it. What if you can't see the difference because you are like them? You want to ask what makes them unlike it, but the ten year old you is afraid. So you say nothing and wonder about the answers yourself.

"You know what a queer is, boy?"

You don't know what the right answer is so you shrug. 

"Filth, that's what a queer is," it takes a drag of its cigarette. "A man who fucks a man is no man at all. Men work, men protect. Women cook, clean, and they take care of us. They give birth. That's what they got pussies for. You think a man can pop kids out of his asshole? We all got our shit to do. And they," the smoke leaves its lips like a fuming dog, "They fuck it up."

You're not comfortable hearing this but you can't just get up and walk away. You don't want another beating. Your small fingers rub your sore arm. The shirt you're wearing is oversized and torn. It does little to protect you from the cold, but there's not much in your cabinet to wear anyway so you have to just deal with it. 

"Freaks of nature," It takes another long drag then blows the smoke on your face. You wave your hand in front of your face to move it away. Suddenly its fist is in your messy hair, gripping tightly, pulling you towards it. "You're no queer, are you, boy?"

You shake your head. 

It glares at you and then decides to let you go. You suppress a shiver and occupy yourself with the scenery outside. Tears swell in your eyes but you don't cry. Crying makes it so very angry. The world outside, though cold and grey, looks like a paradise compared to where you are right now. You feel caged... You want to run. 

"Dixon!"

You snap out of your thoughts. 

"Get back to work!" 

You grunt and jump off the pile of boxes you were sitting on. No rest for the wicked. 

You carry one package on your shoulder and the other under your arm, walking out of the warehouse and into the gloomy world outside. 

Snow falls from the sky, gathering under your feet only to be crushed under your boots. You make haste to the lorry trucks where you drop off the packages. 

"One... two," you hear behind you, and you join the two men trying to pick up a giant box. They lift it slightly, and you squat down, putting some of its weight on your shoulder, and pulling it up with you as you stand. The three of you are able to move it. You wonder what's inside the box as you put it down inside the lorry. The men dust their hands off and you rub your aching shoulder. "Good work, kid." The man tells you. The same man from earlier who gave you that side smile. 

You feel pleased with his approval, it's a familiar sensation. He ruffles your hair, his fingers big enough to engulf the entirety of the top of your head, you try to hide a grin... then he walks away, and you're left to the cold. 

* * *

You grab your things from your locker and move past the chattering men. Another day has ended, and your muscles are desperate for a hot bath. Outside, your best friend is tossing his ball up and down, waiting for you, as he often does.

"Hey, Dixon!" You hear from somewhere, you look back and can't seem to find the source of the sound but it goes on regardless. "Going home with your boyfriend?"

It laughs. Your fists clench and you grit your teeth. If you found whoever said that you'll---

"Ready to go, Glenny?"

Your muscles relax and you turn to look at Titus, seemingly unbothered by what just happened. 

"Yeah."

"You smell like shit."

"Thanks." You say sarcastically. 

He kneels down and picks up a duffle bag. You recognize it from the many times he's carried it with him over the past two years. They're full of tools. You've been working on and off on the shack in the lake for a while now, but there was still much to do. 

Sadly for your muscles, you don't take a nice hot shower, instead, you take a dip in the cold water of the lake. Titus watches you from where he's sitting on the old creaky jetty. You swim towards him, and he follows you with his eyes. His thin hooded eyes almost appear inviting and seductive with his head lowered, especially with him smiling at you. He moves back slightly so there's space for you to prop yourself up and rest your arms on the walkway. 

"Howdy."

You smile back. "Howdy."

"How was work today?"

You shrug your aching shoulders. "Same as always. How's uni?"

"Same as always."

You both chuckle.

His eyes sparkle and shimmer with joy, joy to be here, with you. They are beautiful, you think, unlike most other men's. His smile is comforting, charming, so.... so... You don't know how to describe it (your vocabulary is very limited after all, you uncultured swine). But you know you love it... You love him in indescribable ways. He's your best friend, he's the best thing in your life. 

The ghost of a thought hovers across your mind... Like a hushed whisper in the back of your head.

Kiss him

The thought is powerful and fills you with an overwhelming feeling that sends you sinking to the bottom of the lake. 

You're heavy with freight. 

This simple second 

This fleeting thought 

Why? Why would you think of something like this?

In those horrifying seconds you've seen yourself press your lips against his... You will never unsee it. It makes you want to throw up. 

You shake your head. But you can't unthink what your mind has already spoken.

You admire him, you convince yourself. That's all. You simply misunderstood your own thoughts... that's all.

"You alright there, Glenny?"

"Yeah," you fake a laugh. "Yeah, I'm fine." 

You get out of the water and get dressed. Picking up the tool bag, the two of you head to the shack. 

There's a pile of wooden boards next to it, stacked neatly by Titus on some earlier day. A new axe replaced the old one, lodged on the remains of a tree. Inside, all the old frames have been removed, the posters peeled off the wall, and it was like no one lived here. The last remains of who they were, gone. 

Titus kept all of the old stuff in a box though, should the man ever return... if... He ever returns. Perhaps he's dead. Perhaps his body is somewhere near here and you don't even know it, covered by snow, forgotten, decaying, eaten by maggots.

You help Titus pick up the planks of wood, replacing some of the old withered wood with new ones. The floor is now less creaky. You replace the crooked shelves and put up your own posters on the wall; some footballers, some boxers, even some bands. 

Titus takes off his jacket and wraps it around his waist. His tanktop is stained with sweat, and you follow the lines of his body as he wipes the tiredness off his forehead with the back of his hand. You notice a little scar under his arm, and you wonder if it's always been there and you've just never noticed it before. 

"This place is feelin' more like home, ain't it?"

You agree.

"Just gotta fix the windows and do some decorating and this place should be as good as new!"

He sits down and fishes a cigarette out of his pocket. He offers it to you and you happily accept it. He lights it and you take a long drag, feeling the smoke fill your lungs. You need this after a long day of work. 

You exhale the smoke and close your eyes for a moment, feeling the tension leave your body and dissolve into the air with the remains of the cigar. 

You open your eyes and glance at Titus from the corner of them, he seems to be planning the next step of evolving the shack. His sharp eyes drawing a map of the place, thinking, always thinking.

What does he think when he looks at you?

Another drag. 

Does he think of you as much as you think of him?

No. He probably doesn't. He has better things to think about. 

You think of him so often that you don't even understand your own thoughts anymore.

But there's a strong feeling in your chest. A powerful thing that tells you that he means something to you, and you should never forget that. It brings back the phantom of your earlier terrifying thoughts. 

"Hey," he says. Your eyes meet his. "You just gonna smoke that all on your own?" His voice is playful.

You hand him the cigarette and he puts it between his lips.

"How are you gettin' along with the folks at work?" He asks, you watch the cigar bob up and down as he speaks. 

"They're fine."

"Don't one of 'em got a girl for you?"

You chuckle. "Don't think none of 'em want me anywhere near their girls. Think they're scared of me fuckin' 'em."

"I'm sure you'll give 'em a real good time. Anyway, these folks don't know what they're missin'."

"Right." You say with half your heart. He wraps an arm around you as he blows the smoke from in between his lips then hands the cigarette back to you. "What about you? How's..." you wave your hand vaguely. "What's her name."

"Suzzie?" He shrugged. "Wasn't feelin' it. Sex was great though." He smirked. 

Suzzie. You remember feeling undeniable jealousy when she first came into the picture a few months ago. You worried Titus would spend more time with her than you. Sometimes it did happen, but most the time he picked you. 'Bros before hoes.' He said. 

You feel some form of relief knowing she's gone now. 

"Think she was jealous of you."

You almost choke on the smoke in your lungs. 

"What?"

He shrugged. "Chicks, man. They want all the attention all the time. You know what she said to me?"

"What?"

" 'good. I don't wanna be a part of a threesome with your boyfriend.' Is what she said."

You blink. "Why do people always think that?"

He takes the cigarette from you. "Think what?" He takes a drag.

"That we're boyfriends."

He shrugs. "Guess we're just that close."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"No. Why should it?" He exhales.

"People thinkin' you're queer."

"It don't matter to me," He puts the cigarette out. Titus is confident, unlike you. He knows what he is and he doesn't need to prove himself to anyone. "Does it matter to you?"

You're not sure. You know it's wrong to be queer so it should matter. You're a man, and Titus is a man. It should matter. 

Right?

You take too long to respond. He moves on.

"Anyway," Hardie pushes himself to his feet. "Ready to get goin'?" 

He offers you his hand and you accept it. With his mighty strength, he pulls you up, and you go with the weight of his tug easily. The trees outside welcome your presence and Martinaise gives you bits and pieces of itself in the form of momentary trinkets. The leaves that brush by you with the breeze, the remains of snow stuck to your shoes, her gentle fingers play with your hair and twirl it with the wind. 

She watches over you and your friend as you make your way back to the vile and putrid veins of the district, and in her lungs comes the forked path. Your house is left, Titus's house is right. He takes the road home with you.

"Don't forget, tomorrow we gotta practice."

Rugby. You've fallen in love with the sport, or perhaps you're in love with the violent nature of it. Nothing says "manly" like a bunch of burly men fighting over a ball. 

"Oh and my game, next week."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, man."

He gives you a slap on the back. "I know. Night, Glenny."

You smile. He opens his arms, a familiar goodbye. You wrap your arms around him, he closes his around your frame, your head falls on his shoulders, comfortable, like a bird in its nest. 

He's firm and solid against you, and yet the sound of his breathing is the softest thing your ears have ever heard.

He smells of cigarettes, sweat, and something sweet, a musky manly smell. You always make note of it. It sticks to his clothes when you borrow his shirt, his jacket when he wraps it around you during the cold.

"See ya." He says, and with a wave, he was off. You make it into the house before the dreadful feeling of loneliness consumes you. 

You barely manage to close the door behind you before you're forced down to the ground. 

"Get off me!"

The heavy weight of a knee on your neck makes it hard for you to breathe. You try to crawl from under its weight but you're nothing but a squirming bug to it.

"Who was that?" It asks, spitting everywhere. You want to say you're surprised that it did not recognize Titus but you're not.

"Fuck off, old man!" You bark back it pushes its knee down harder. 

"I knew you were queer.

"What the fuck?" You try to breathe out, your face is so far into the wooden floor that you can smell it rotting beneath you. Your body desperately needs air, so it starts unconsciously flailing to no avail. It is only when the beast feels merciful enough to remove its knee do you finally gasp for breath, but not seconds later, your head slams against the wall. You're dizzy. But you know this dance too well.

"I knew you were no man." It hisses. 

"Fuck you, he's just my friend!" What's the use of explaining yourself to a thing that does not understand friendship? It was not as lucky as you. 

Another slam. You're seeing stars. 

Another one and you fall to the floor.

You try to recover as fast as you can but you feel the snap of something against your face. Your eyes widen in shock of the pain. 

Another snap. Blood runs down your cheek. You push yourself back but the walls offer no escape. 

It lifts its enormous arm and brings the leather belt down. You put your arms up, they grant little defense against the strap. Hit after hit, it wears your clothes down and cuts your skin. You curl up into a ball and hide your face, weak whimpers escape your lips. You know being loud would only make it angrier. 

you bite your lips to keep from making anymore noises and to help hold back the tears that now threaten to escape your eyes. You don't let yourself cry. 

You just have to wait until its tired of swinging

You just have to make it through. The pain is unbearable. You think you'll pass out before it gets tired. 

Your body is writhing in pain, spazzing, twitching, shaking. Its yelling insults at you but you can't hear it over the stinging in your body.

...

And then it stops.

Finally, it stops. 

But you don't lower your arms, not yet. Not even when they quiver and writhe in pain. 

You feel the burn in every cut. You wait for a sign that this thing is finally bored, but instead, you feel it kneel down to be on your level, and it picks you off the floor from your torn shirt. 

"I don't wanna see you around that boy no more, do you understand?"

You spit on its face, blood, and saliva trails down its cheek.

You know you shouldn't have done that, but you can't let this monster dictate whether you're allowed to see your best friend or not. 

It shakes you, and repeats "do you understand?" As though it's not aware of the spit on its face.

"Fuck you!"

"If I see that boy around here," it hisses. "I will rip him apart and paint the floor with his guts!" He lets you go but knees you in the crotch as if to make a point. You fall to the ground and bite on a yelp of pain.

But finally, the beast walks away.

You let yourself be defeated on the floor for a while, trying to scrape up what remains of your dignity before dragging yourself to your room, pushing your wardrobe behind the door to lock it, and then leave for the bathroom to inspect your wounds.

You slide your ripped shirt off your shoulders and wince at the pain, your skin is blue and purple, topped with red. 

Your entire body begs you to open the dam and let the tears flood, but you don't. Men don't cry. 

When you cried as a toddler, you were beaten

When you cried as a child, you were beaten

You can't allow yourself those tears. For what remains of your dignity, you can't. 

Your body tells you that it'll cry one way or another, so it cries in blood, dripping down your cheek, down your heavily bruised arms, down your legs.

They scream at the weight of your body. Old wounds melt with new. You are a walking masterpiece of violence. A sight your mirror has seen far too many times, and it understands, for it has been put together by tape as well. 

You step into the shower and let the water heal what it could. Your lips hang open in a silent scream as the water washes away the blood from your cuts and gashes, the simple drops are violent against your bruised body 

You look down at the thing between your legs, the thing that has declared who you are and how you should live. 

A thing you should be proud of... It has much to say but you never listen.

No matter what you do, no matter how big your body gets, no matter how much you work out and build your shape to be of a superstar's, it's not enough. You're never man enough. You're never fucking strong enough to walk away from this. 

You come home every night and you let yourself get beat. You can't fight back. You only bark like a fucking dog. 

Your fists clench and you punch the wall. It is unfazed by your anger and doesn't even cry out in pain. It doesn't crack or whine. It simply stands. Unimpressed.

The water does little to cool the anger boiling inside you. 

You ask yourself why do you stay? 

Because where else would you go? 

Surely the streets are better than this. 

You stay because you're a pussy. You allow this to happen. 

Why don't you kill it? Go to the kitchen right now and take the sharpest knife, stick it in the beast's heart. 

Why don't you do it?!

Because you're scared. 

You let this happen to you.

Another punch to the wall, then another, then another. You can't contain the angry howl that rips through your chest. You want to hurt something, but there no one here to take your anger out on, so you continue to abuse the wall. 

Maybe you deserve this. It's such a dangerous thought but you think it's possible. You feel it's justified, perhaps only this time. You deserve this for your sickening thoughts. 

Then you close the water, dry off, and you don't bother to put anything on except your underwear. 

Though your body is grieving, and though you are so very tired, you can't find sleep... not until the anger has drained every last bit of life out of you, and you hear the echoes of unfriendly voices spouting words to you, reiterating conversations you've had with people that will surely laugh at you if they knew just how pathetic you are. 

Daddy's little boy, covers up his bruises, one day the beast will have the rest of you.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"No."

"What do you mean, no?!"

"Come on, Glen. You know what no means. No means No."

"I'm fine, T!"

Titus Hardie scans you from the top of your head to your toes and then shakes his head. "No."

You stomp your foot on the ground like a child who didn't get their way. "Fuck you!" You stab his chest with your finger, he looks at you, agitated by your behavior.

"He beat you up real bad, alright? I should be takin' you to a hospital right now."

"I said I'm fine!"

He grabs you by your shirt, he's surprisingly harsh when he drags you to the lake and forces you to look down at your own reflection in the water. "Look at you!" He almost yells. "Fuckin' look at you!"

You turn your head, not wanting to see the bruises and cuts on your face but Titus grabs your head and keeps it facing the water. 

"You see this? You're fucked up, man." He feels sorry for you, you think, because his voice is soft when he says that. It pisses you off so fucking much, so you reach back and smack his hand away. 

You shove him, he shoves back, almost pushing you into the water. He gives you a silent warning with his eyes, you ignore it and lunge forward, knocking him down onto the ground. You fight in the remains of melting snow, kicking it in your attempt to gain control over the fight. Drops of red stain the white snow as you bring your fist down repeatedly against the side of Titus's face, left after right, right after left. His shape becomes unrecognizable to you, red fog clouds your eyes and obscures your vision. You only see the blob of a thing reaching out to flip you over. He presses you against the snow and yells something that gets lost in the haze of the red clouds fogging your thoughts. You growl and reach blindly for his face, scratching, clawing, like an animal. 

You want to ravish him.

You pin him down and wrap your fingers around his throat. He punches you but you don't let go. 

He is a titan beneath you. You feel like a god. The thought sends a surge of pleasure rushing through your bloodstream.

Eventually, he finds a way to knock you down, once you were far gone in the darkness of your twisted mind. And before you know it, you're in his grip; a tight, secure headlock. You thrash around, he presses harder, his biceps drawing the air out of you.

Oh, how the tables turn.

“I will snap your neck, Glen. Don’t fuckin’ test me.”

You growl and try to push yourself away from him but he does not let go. You claw at his face, at his arms, at any place you could reach, he lets you struggle, knowing that it’s futile.

“Stop it! Now!”

You spit as you breathe, your face is changing color, from red and slowly to blue. The lack of air gives you no option but to calm down. All the pleasures in the world turn their back to you. You have no choice but to surrender.

Your arms fall to your side, defeated. The fog clears up, but he does not let go, not for a while longer, he wants to make are you’re not going to bounce him the moment he lets you go.

You cough, your lungs are desperate. He finally releases you, and you gasp for that sweet, sweet chilling air. The anger rises once more, but you know better than to attack him again as he stands up and walks away from you.

You slam your fist against the snow. “Fuck you!” You bark at him. “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” You punch the ground, again and again, he ignores your tantrum and lights a cigarette.

The anger in you is suffocating and overwhelming. You feel weak and pathetic. You can’t beat Titus in a fight, you can’t stand up for yourself. You’re pathetic.

The snow beneath you plays you a scene from your memory, of when you were but a small child with fire in your eyes, the first time you’ve lost yourself to the red fog. 

A group of boys, not much older than you at the time, circling around you like vultures, teasing you for your hair, for your broken tooth, for your band-aids, and your torn clothes. You remember jumping on one of them and biting his ear so hard that you almost ripped it off, and you would have too, if the grown-ups didn't interfere. 

It was good enough to send the others running screaming though. They knew better than to mess with you again.

You remember tasting the blood that was staining your teeth. It quenched a thirst you weren't even aware of. 

You went home and didn’t feel like taking shit from the monster under the bottles of liquor that day. You could tell by its reddened cheeks, that you were not one to make the rules here. But you fought that day, like a little puppy dog, scratching his arms with your unkempt nails until they bled their vile and disgusting blood all over the floor. 

You thought then, you would die on that day. You piled all that you could behind your door to keep it out, and you could not find the peace of mind to sleep.

“Cig?” 

You snap out of your thoughts and look up at your friend, holding out his cigarette for you. You sigh and take it from his hand, inhaling a lung full of smoke before handing it back to him. You keep it in for a while until you feel it burn up the remains of your anger, and then you breathe it out, letting it vanish into the air. 

He sits down next to you, and you glance at him from the corner of your eyes, suddenly ashamed of the bruises you left on his perfect face. He doesn’t seem bothered by them, his only concern is finishing the roll of nicotine between his fingers. He shares it with you until it has nothing left to offer, and then tosses it in the snow. 

His giant hand comes up to his face, and he wipes away the blood, now dried, under his nose.

“I,” The word escapes you before you could stop it. He arches an eyebrow and looks at you. You sigh again. “I’m sorry.”

"Damn right you should be." He pauses, and let's you live in guilt a while longer before adding. “Apology accepted.”

You give him a faint smile and feel relieved when he returns it. 

“I was right though!” You say so he doesn’t get too cocky. “If I could fight you then I could still play ball.”

He chuckles. “Sure,” It’s sarcastic. He punches you lightly on the arm. “You would make a great prop though if you don’t end up breaking the other team’s bones and get us disqualified that is.”

You flash him a toothy smile and flex your muscles. “Not my fault if they don’t carry the big guns.”

He laughs, hearty and loud. 

“You got a long way to go, Glenny. But we’ll get there someday.”

You nod. “Of course we will! You and I are unstoppable!”

His arm wraps around you and he pulls you close. “That's fuckin' right.”

...

...

...

It's silent. The boat creaks as it sways with the waves. A few birds chirp as they fly over your heads.

You wonder why he bothers with you.

"We can practice tomorrow," he says. "We still got time. Bring those muscles to the right field next time."

You nod. 

He stands up and gestures for you to follow, you do. "Wanna go check out the new arcade place?"

You shrug. "Sure."

He smirks but you don't have time to question why before he runs off, yelling, "last one there is a rotten egg!"

You chase after him, your boots dig into the snow and shovel it back as you try to gain momentum. You hear him laughing, and you grin because he sounds so fucking stupid but you love it. The snow fades into the streets as you leave trees behind you and replace it with rundown buildings in the heart of the district. 

Titus takes a sharp right, gripping onto a street sign to keep himself balanced. You follow closely behind. You lose for the second time today, but this time, you don't mind it.

"You cheated!"

"Don't be a sore loser"

The arcade is loud. Teens hogging the machines, yelling, screaming, groups of friends chatting. This place is more lively than most of Martinaise (not counting the bars of course)

Titus gives you a light pat on the back. "Come on." 

You move past the crowd of kids and young teens. The music playing above your head is almost ear piercing. The sound of dozens of different games all mold together into one. You find an air hockey machine and you and Titus agree to make a bet.

"Loser pays for the beers tonight."

Technically, you're not old enough to "legally" drink let alone be seen purchasing beer but this is Martinaise. There are no laws.

You start the game. The disc slides from one side of the table to the other, both you and Titus doing your best to keep your goals safe. Your bodies swing from left to right while you try to follow the disc, and you swipe your hitter with so much enthusiasm that it almost sends the disc flying off the table. The poor thing ricochets against the walls, bouncing all over the place...

You hear that sweet click as the disc falls into the goal. You throw your arms up in victory.

"Suck my dick, Hardie!"

He clicks his tongue. "Don't get cocky now." He picks the disc from the slot and puts it back on the table. 

Round two.

Round three.

Round four.

It goes on for a while before the game finally comes to an end with you as the champion. Congratulations, your first win of the day and it's in air hockey. 

"Fine," he doesn't sound too happy about losing. He puts his hands on his hips, lowers his head, and makes a face, it almost looks like a pout, but before you can actually make sure, he lifts his head again and it's gone. "Good thing you're a lousy drinker."

He leaves to get a six-pack of beer, you busy yourself with one of the pinball machines. you're having way too much fun with a machine that lets you bounce the ball around an obstacle course where the only thing you do is occasionally hit a button to kick it back into the course until it eventually lands in the middle between your paddles and into GAME OVER.

You look at your score and decide, not bad, but it's not no.1 and you want that spot. You're about to start a new game but Titus comes back with six cans of fresh cold beer. 

You decide to play a few more games before bouncing. By the time you leave the arcade, the sun has already said its goodbye. 

The street lamps flicker on. You and Titus sneak your way into the old docks where you find solitude and comfort on top of one of the creaky ages-old cargo containers. The wind is a howl in between the rusty cranes, ropes swing about carelessly, and the world pays no attention to two small men, filling the void of silence with chit chats about whatever comes to mind in between shots of beer.

"And man, the cheerleaders!" Titus makes two ball shapes with his hands. "Best part of the game. I think one of them has the hots for me."

Well duh, you think. You think any woman would be silly not to have the hots for him. 

"Did you ask her out?"

"Nah. I heard she's a bit loony."

"Shit."

He takes a chug of his beer. "But you know that won't stop me from scoring. No strings attached kind of score."

You nod then it's your turn to down some beer.

"We really need to get you a lady too."

You think for a while, about girls you've come across in your life. None of them are distinct. You don't think you've really fallen in love, physically or more than that. You do love a good pair of milkers though. They're soft! Like two very round very comfy pillows. Who the hell doesn't like some good soft tits?! You're pretty sure that even women like feeling their own tits.

You put your hand in your pocket and take out a cigarette, handing it to Titus, he leans in and puts it between his lips. You search your jacket for your lighter and bring life to the flame on the tip of the cigar. 

He takes a long smoke, you simply watch him, and let your mind drift with the grey clouds. You remember the first time he came to you and said. _'I scored, Glenny! A really good one!'_

You didn't register that he was talking about sex at first. 

He went on to tell you about it, about how it felt. It wasn't awkward, you've seen Titus naked before and he's seen you naked before. You've made fun of each other's dicks. It wasn't that hard for you to imagine women swooning over him. He had a great body, and the dick to fit. 

You tried before, getting women. Titus would sometimes hook you up with some beautiful girls. Slender bodies, elegant features, and of course a great ass. 

It's safe to say that it was a disaster each time. You have your fun, of course. You're just a hard man to please. Women cant handle you.

Titus laughed at you. You thought you knew embarrassment before but this? This was true embarrassment. 

And then he would go _'eh, you shouldn't be having sex till you're eighteen anyway.'_

'You should get laid,' and 'you should wait till you're 18' are two contradictory statements but you know Titus is just trying to not make you feel too bad about your disastrous relationships and your picky dick.

"Have you figured out a plan yet?"

You blink, confused.

"To get rid of the old shit in your house."

You look down at the ground and rock your legs back and forth with the wind. Your mind works on thousands of different plans all at once. A venomous bitter laugh escapes you, you drown your hatred with more beer but it suddenly doesn't taste as good.

Titus tilts his head but seems sympathetic.

He has no idea of what goes on in your head when you think about killing that monster. You think you'd like to give him a glimpse but your own words sound insane in your head, how would they sound to him?

What if you scare him away?

Come on, Titus Hardie is no pussy. What's a little blood and guts?

"Glen?"

He hands you the cigarette, an attempt to get you to snap out of your thoughts. You take a drag and let the smoke come out of your nose. "I don't know," you finally say. "I might need some chains, ropes won't do," You laugh in an attempt to make it sound like a joke. "I'll put a pillow over his face and shoot him till he stops movin'," you wave your hand in circles and watch the red stain the pillow before your eyes, consuming it as it expands. "Or strangle him till his neck snaps," there's so much hate in your voice, that it's hard to mask this as some edgy joke from a troubled teenager. "Or I'll grab the kitchen knife one night when he's blackout drunk and rip him open, dig into his chest just to see if that fucker ever had a heart in him," you take another drag. "And then I'll chop his balls off." You shrug then hand the smoke back to Titus. 

He doesn't say anything for a while, leaving you to contemplate your mistakes.

You shouldn't have said anything. 

"Yeah well if you need help doin' that then you know I'm game," you're not sure if he's being serious. "That bastard has it comin'."

You appreciate his support, but as you look at him, you think...

You don't want to drag him down with you. 

If this goes wrong, he shouldn't have to pay for it.

His gaze locks on yours, and as you look into his hazel eyes, it becomes certain to you... you would die before you let harm come his way. You would fucking kill for him. By her Innocence, you would do anything for him. Anything!

Your heart pities you, you are so far gone and you don't even know it. 

He reaches out, wrapping an arm around you, and he pull him towards him in a tight, warm, and secure embrace. You hug him back, and you miss the way he smiles in your arms; calm, joyful, all too happy to be here. 

"I love you, Glenny."

Your eyes widen, and your fingers curl around his jacket, gripping desperately. You could have sworn that your heart has stopped beating for a moment or perhaps it was beating too fast for you to comprehend. 

"You're the bestest darn friend anyone could ask for, and your old man can't beat that outta you."

Your throat tightens, you think you feel tears swell in your eyes. Your chest hurts. And all you can do is bury your face in his shoulders.

You love him too, but the words are too heavy on your tongue. You were never taught how to feel, how to express yourself. He's the only one who's ever shown you this sort of kindness. How are you supposed to feel about that? You don't know... so all you can do is hold on to him for dear life.

He doesn't pull away, and you don't want to let go

So you stay

He's warm, and you catch that familiar smell on his jacket; cigarettes, beer, shaving cream, and his cologne. 

You bring one of your hands up to the back of his head, his short hair like harmless spikes against your skin. 

There's comfort, a strange, overwhelming comfort that makes you forget all the anger you've ever felt. You close your eyes and feel light. It's easy then... easy to think about saying those three words back. 

You open your mouth to sing, but the blinding bright light behind your closed lids stop you. 

"What are you kids doing up there?" You hear a gruff old voice say. Your eyes snap open and you untangle from one another. Behind the blinding light of the flashlight, a man stands, looking like he's ready to make you regret your choices today. 

You leave your beers behind as you jump off the cargo container and onto the concrete floor and you make a run for it, the man chases after you. You take as many twists and turns between the crates trying to avoid his light, and then you split up to confuse the guard. 

He hesitates before choosing to follow Titus. 

You look for a low wall and by the time Titus finds you once more, the flashlight behind him is lost. You kneel down and knot your fingers together, he climbs on your connected hands and hops onto the wall. He sits on the top of it, reaching back to grab your hand as you jump and he pulls you up next to him. You both hop down to the side of freedom and give one another a victory fistbump followed by a chestbump. 

"Shame we left the beers."

You agree. 

"F*ggots!" You hear the frustrated yell of the guard behind the wall and snicker as you walk away from the docks. 

You take that sorrowful walk home, and Titus makes it more uplifting by hyping up your grand escape. 

"Oh, man! You should have seen the look on his face when he thought he lost me!"

"What a chump."

You stand a little far from your house and bring Titus to a halt with you. 

"We play tomorrow, right?"

He nods. "Just don't show up with any broken bones."

"Don't worry, I got this."

Another hug, this one was over a lot quicker. 

"Night, man."

He waves goodbye and then he's off. 

When you go into your house, it's silent. You turn on the lights and see the big heap of man-flesh sleeping on the couch. You glance over at the kitchen and you imagine taking the knife and plunging it into its heart. You wonder how many stabs it would take to kill it. You wonder if you're strong enough to dig the knife fully in, past its bones. You wonder if it would be scared, if it would plead for you to stop.

But all you do is wonder before you tiptoe to your room and close the curtain on yet another day. Tomorrow, you have to bring your A-Game. 


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory rugby chapter and something more ;)

**Chapter 6**

The cold wind rushes through your hair as your feet slide on the grass, you dodge tackles left and right, and once you've had enough of playing pansy, you toss the ball behind you, trusting Titus to catch it, and of course, he does. As soon as the ball is secured, you take an offensive stance, making sure to protect Titus as he makes his way to the goal.

Like a rhino, you charge the opposing team and tackle down anyone who dares stand between you and sweet, sweet victory.

Titus scores a try. You slam your fist against your chest and let out a howl of celebration before high-fiving your teammate.

"Conversion." The referee, in this case, the coach, says. 

Titus hops up and down in place a few times before placing the ball down on the kicking tee. He took a deep breath, and then... the kick

"AND THERE SHE GOES!" You yell, following the ball with your eyes. It goes high in the grey-ish sky before going in between the goal's poles. "HE SCORES!" You throw your hands up. 

You and Titus jog and meet halfway for a chest bump.

"Good work, red team." The coach says. 

"All in a day's work, coach!" Titus wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, the adrenaline rush already wearing off. 

The coach nods at you. "Thanks for filling in, son. You're one hell of a player. Where in the world did Hardie find you?"

Titus wraps an arm around you and grins. "This here is my best friend, Glen. He's made out of pure anger, coach. You ain't gonna find no one like him."

There he goes again, hyping you up. You let it get into your head and smirk proudly.

"Good to see you using that anger on the field, kid. You'll make one amazing prop one day."

Titus nods. "Damn right. We're gonna make it big!"

The coach seems pleased by your ambitions. 

You clear the field and the players head into the locker rooms.

"If you wanna shower, I brought some spare clothes." Titus points at his duffle bag.

"Thanks."

A nice warm shower is all you need after this. The water is welcoming against your skin, it washes off the sweat and dirt from your body and cleans old wounds. 

You dry off and put your (Or more correctly, Titus)'s clothes on. Men walk out of the shower room, wrapped only in towels. You find yourself fascinated by their build. Different builds are required in a game like rugby. That's what separates the props from the hookers, from the number 8s, from the fly-halves, etc. Your body and strength, as well as your wits, determine your position in this game. It's what makes you a good prop. You're aggressive, and you're one hell of a hard hitter, while Titus is a thinker and a leader, and that's why he's the fly-half. 

You hear the men chat and laugh among themselves, and for some reason, you keep looking rather than picking up your sweaty game clothes and walking out. You must have been staring for a while now because not only do your muscles react but so does your dick, and it's saying things that would make a school girl blush.

One of them catches your stare; short hair spiked up, sharp jaw, green eyes. Your typical athlete copy and paste. 

"Whatcha looking at, Blondie?" 

Your body stiffens but you try to keep it casual. 

"Nothin'."

They all look at you. Uh-oh.

"Your mama let you keep your hair that long? Does she brush it for you every night before bed, pretty boy?" They all laugh. 

"Woah there, guys," you feel a hand on your shoulder. "Glen here is all man, and he can kick all your asses just like he did out there on the field."

Titus to the rescue. You would let out a sigh of relief, but you don't wanna seem like a bitch in front of these random dudes. 

"We're just playing around with the kid, Titus."

"He ain't gonna be playin' when you're buried six feet under."

You try to back Titus' threats with your best intimidating smile. 

Taking their silence as a victory, you and Titus take your leave. 

"Man, I wish you could play with us in the game."

"Yeah. Same. I'd really wipe the floor with those suckers!"

Titus chuckles and pats you on the back. "I don't doubt you will. But you did good out there today. I think coach is really impressed."

You play cocky. "What can I say? I'm a natural."

"Yeah, yeah, Blondie," He says teasingly. "Just don't forget to show up."

"I'll be there."

He nods then tugs on your(/his) jacket. "A bit more and you might actually grow into it."

"Are you sayin' I'm small?!" You're actually quite big for your age, and taller than average as well, actually, you're just a bit taller than Titus is. It's why his clothes fit you so well despite him being just a year from being a full-grown adult, while you're in the middle of your teen years. 

He just smiles, making all your witty comebacks (that you prepared for any remark he would make) vanish into thin air. "Looks real nice on you. Think you wear it better than me." 

You weren't expecting a compliment so you were at a loss for words. You shove your hand in your pockets and lower your head, thankful for the hair covering your bright red ears.

"Yeah, well..." You try to say something, but being verbally expressive (when it's not swearing) isn't even close to being one of your best traits. 

He laughs, it adds to the injury but it's a pleasant sting. 

You spend the rest of the day in your usual spot, wasting time. The peace is much needed.

* * *

The battle sirens go off, the warriors on the field are quick to react. Bones crash against bones. The reason for this war? A simple ball. Now thrown backwards to the number 8 who takes the ball and runs with it. It doesn't take long for the field to be a bloody mess (not literally, of course. But can you imagine?)

The player with the ball automatically turns into a prey, hunted by vicious animals. It was the team's job to keep the rabbit safe.

It was almost easy to imagine the sound of the players slamming into one another in great force, you definitely know a thing or two about smacking sounds, perhaps a bit too much. 

You watch Titus swiftly dodging the missiles of bodies charging at him. It was like a graceful, yet violent dance and Titus knew the rhythm of it all too well. 

You're glued to the railing keeping you from jumping into the field. The people behind you yell at you to sit down, you look back at them and snarl. 

"Come on, T!" You shout to the wind. "You got this!" Unbeknownst to you, the breeze has carried your message across the battlegrounds. Your message was received and responded to with a wicked grin from the team's Fly-Half. 

Titus gives his team an encouraging battle cry as they charge back onto the field, and chaos resumes. 

It's hard to keep track of the ball and where it ends under the heap of men, stacked on top of each other, while two players of each time try to get the ball into their part of the playground. 

The scores fluctuate, you think it's a close call. Your anticipation is a weapon of murder, and it's about ready to kill you. 

You wish you could be down there with them, then this would have been an easy win. You and Titus together? You're worth the entire team! 

You watch the ball fly into the air, your mouth hung open in the shape of an "o", your blue eyes fixed on the spherical ball, going through the posts. The crowd cheers, your own voice booming among them. 

On the field, your best friend's heart is pounding in his chest. The sweat on his face and drenching his body tells you that this is harder than it looks from where you sit comfortably on your ass. The team relies on him, on his plans, on his tactics, on his ability to make those split-second decisions to lead them to victory, after all, that's why he's the Fly-Half.

During the break, Titus comes up to see you. You lean against the railing and rest your arms on top of them. "Don't lose, Hardie."

He sounds out of breath when he laughs, you don't blame him. "You know I ain't no loser, Glenny."

"You're doin' good, man."

He nods. "Thanks. Well, I gotta go give the boys a pep talk. See ya after the game," he takes a few steps back. "When we win of course. Victory beers all fuckin' night, babe!" 

You chuckle and give him a little wave goodbye. He makes a gun with his hand and shoots an imaginary bullet at you before jogging off. 

You smile like you just got noticed by the most popular guy in school then take your seat again, waiting for the second half of the game to start. 

The whistle is a gun, and when it's shot, the players get back on the field. 

There's something beautiful to you about big burly men, all ganged up in a heap of sweat, skin against skin, grunting and growling, fighting for dominance. It awakens something in you, something glorious and yet violent. 

It's exciting, it's the beauty of sports that makes you feel alive. The rush, the sheer power in those muscles. You can't wait to be a part of it.

The players protect their ball carrier, tackling anyone trying to stop him until eventually, he tosses the ball back to his closest teammate, and down he goes. 

Titus’ team is in the lead, you think they’ll keep at it. Obviously. Titus Hardie does NOT lose. 

Both sides on the battlefield are drained. Adrenaline now doing little to keep them going. The cold wind shows them mercy and brushes a cold breeze against their glistening skins. The crowd, still full of energy, tries to keep the teams going by cheering. You join them, as loudly as you could. It’s enough to get them to the end. With a final futile score, the visiting team loses the match. 

Each side shakes hands and then the field is cleared, and the teams depart. 

You eagerly wait for Titus in the locker room. No one really pays you any attention, the team too busy hollering at each other, boasting about their victory. You sit on the bench and kick your feet back and forth, listening in on their chatter. The door opens, the coach walks in and congratulates his boys on their victory.

“Easy win.” One of them says.

“Those guys can’t play for shit!” The team laughs. 

“Don’t get cocky. That’s how you destroy your career before it has a chance to even begin,” The coach tells them. Some roll their eyes, see pretend like they didn’t hear him, and some listen carefully. “Anyway, you earned your win. Go celebrate.”

“Now that’s what we’re talking about!”

One of them looks at you. “Hey, Blondie,” he says. “You’re like,” he gestures vaguely. “Titus’ boyfriend or something, right?” You hear laughter from behind him, your brows knot, and you show him your sharp teeth to let him know you mean business, nasty business. He backs off “Um, tell him to meet us at the pub, we’re getting WASTED tonight!”

And then they were off. 

The coach approaches you and takes a seat next to you. “Your vocal cords are as strong as your tackle, son,” He jokes. “Gave lots of people in the crowd a problem.”

“Just cheerin’ my friend on, sir. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

“No, there isn’t. I know Titus appreciates it. You’re a whole cheering squad.”

“Thank you!” It wasn’t a compliment.

“Anyway, make sure to drink responsibly, kid. We don’t want to lose you before you get the chance to join our team.”

There’s a sparkle of hope in your eyes for a moment. “So… there’s a chance?”

He shrugs. “If what Titus says about you is right, then maybe. You tell Titus to bring you along to play more often and then we’ll see.”

You nod enthusiastically. He smiles and then takes his leave. Not long after, Titus comes out of the shower, dressed and ready to go. 

“Boys said they’re waitin’ on ya at the pub.”

“Sure, “ He opens his locker and picks up his bag, flinging it over his shoulder. “You joinin’?”

You’re not sure if Titus wants you around his friends. You don’t want to embarrass him. “Don’t know.”

He grins and wraps an arm around you. “Come in, it’ll be fun. We ain’t payin’ for the drinks tonight so we can have as much as we want!”

He seems genuine, you trust him. “Alright. Let’s not keep ‘em waitin’ then.”

“Oh, they’re probably already blackout drunk.”

You take your time to get to the bar. Titus is having a grand time bragging about his victory, and you think he deserves to. You like his enthusiasm. It makes you excited as well. 

"You're a damn machine, T. They never stood a chance." 

His laughter is loud in the narrow lifeless street. "They should bring an entire army next time."

"I don't think an army can stop you."

"They can try."

You grin. "You know I got your back."

He pulls you in an awkward side embrace. "I know, Glenny." 

You want to stop walking and wrap your arms around him for a proper hug... But you don't. You're close to the pub anyway.

When you walk in, Titus still has his arm around you, but it doesn't seem to matter to him, as he shouts across the pub at his team. "The titan is here!"

The team is already drunk, you can tell by the way they babble back, their words are slurred, incomprehensible. They raise their beer bottles before collectively taking a swig.

You and Titus join them on a separate table, pushing it close to theirs so it would join into one. You sit on top of it and they hand you and Titus a bottle each. 

"To, ugh, " one of them tries to say something but he's too fucking gone. "Our wins or whatever the fuck."

They all howl in unison, you join in. 

"To your dumb asses." Titus says and puts up his bottle before taking a sip of his beer.

One bottle turns into two, two turn into four. Words start making less sense to you, but you still try to follow with the team's babbling. 

You drink for hours and hours. The hangover tomorrow is going to be such a motherfucking bitch!

You lean against Titus as you feel your head get hazy. Your cheeks and nose are crimson red. You can already smell the beer on him, under the sweet scent of whatever soap he used during the shower. He rests his head on top of your golden bed of hair. 

"Awww, is your little baby getting tired?" 

"Can it," you respond through the fog in your mind, pointing your empty bottle at him. "Before I use this to cut your tongue off." You probably shouldn't be threatening to hurt Titus' friends but you hear him laugh.

"You heard the man." 

"Whatever, man. I'm done anyway. Gotta be able to find my way back home." He stands, some follow him. 

"Yeah. It was fun hanging out with you champs, but the place is closing up pretty soon anyway."

The party dies off slowly, as the team begins to leave bit by bit. By the end of it, you think you're about ready to pass the fuck out. 

"Come on, buddy. Let's go home." Titus puts your arm over his shoulder, the two of you say your way out the pub. (You think you hear the people behind the counter thanking Dolores Dei that you're gone, but maybe it's just the voices in your head.)

You both wobble and almost end up falling over a few times when your feet tangle but you catch each other successfully. 

Titus laughs. It's loud as usual, drunk, and it's music to your ears. It makes you laugh as well. You're both a mess and you know it. 

The streets are empty, no one is around to see you fail at remembering how to function like normal human beings. The wind bites your lips but Titus provides your body with enough warmth to keep the cold from clawing at the rest of you. 

You trip again, this time you end up on the floor, taking Titus down with you. You both look up at the dark night sky and continue to cackle at your own stupidity. 

"Come on," He gets back on his feet and pulls you up. "We're almost there."

"I don't wanna go home." You whine. 

"Yeah. No shit. We're goin' to the shack."

You blink a few times then rub your eyes with your free hand, suddenly the road to the lake becomes recognizable to you. You try to make it through the thick patches of trees, the dark makes your journey harder. But together, you manage to find the shack. 

Titus tries to look for his lighter for the lantern. "Fuck." He curses under his breath. His hands are shaky as hell but he manages not to burn the entire place down. 

The little light provided to you by the torch makes your sensitive eyes feel like they're on fire. Titus agrees because you can hear him hissing next to you. 

He slumps down on the sleeping bag. 

When your eyes adjust, you join him on the floor, sitting down on your own sleeping bag. 

"Wild day, huh?"

"Mhm." It's all you can say. You turn to look at him, he's already looking at you. 

His heavy-lidded eyes are heavier with booze. His gaze is foggy and unfocused. A smile tugs on his lips, you're not sure why. You're not sure if it's friendly or mocking how red your face is, or whatever the fuck. But you find your eyes lingering there. And then they move, he's saying something.

"So when were you gonna tell me?"

You tilt your head. 

"About you gawking at my boys." His smile turns into a devilish smirk. "You were obviously checkin' 'em out." 

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?"

"You know what I mean."

He's drunk. He doesn't know what he's saying, you try to convince yourself so you don't beat the living shit out of him. 

"I wasn't gawking or checkin' anyone out."

"Uh-huh."

"I wasn't fuckin' gawking!"

"Then what was it?"

"It was nothin'."

He leans in and rests his chin on his palm. You suddenly despise that cocky look on his face. 

"Knock it off, T!"

"I ain't doin' nothin'."

"Fuck you!"

He chuckles. "You know, Glen. My old man is a hunter, you remember that right?" you're not sure what the fuck is up with his tone of voice, it's somewhat playful and somewhat all-knowing, he goes on regardless, "And he taught me everythin'. I know the way a hunter looks at his prey."

That fucking smirk...

He stares you right in the eyes, you stare right back. Both of you not wanting to back down. His eyes are dark galaxies, full of confidence, and his hazy thoughts, a secret behind the fog. They narrow as his smirk becomes a toothy grin, and fuck, you think he looks so damn appetizing. 

You keep yourself from licking your lips, feeling as though they've suddenly become very dry. 

"That's the one." He says. It's almost a whisper, just audible enough for you to hear it.

And he's right. 

In the fog of your mind, you understand what he means. A hunger in you becomes apparent, and he's the perfect prey. The booze kicks your animalistic instincts into overdrive. You want to bounce him and wipe that look off his face. It's an almost monstrous violent urge. Your body aches for something beyond your comprehension. It tells you that it wants and needs and craves, and you don't know what the fuck it wants.

He leans towards you and your body twitches. The hunter in you tells you to attack before he does. You study his movements carefully and then...

He falls against you, making himself comfortable against your slightly taller frame. You're taken aback by the drastic change of the situation. 

Oh...

"Ah, fuck." He breathes. "I can already feel the hangover."

You're not sure what to do. He's so close to you that you can hear him breathing. How do you recover from what he had just told you? From what you were feeling? From the violence that itches your bones and tingles in your knuckles and nails. 

He doesn't say anything for a while, you think he might have fallen asleep, so you take your time in the silence to comprehend what had just happened. You sigh, your brain is too fucked up right now to think properly (not that it does even when you're sober.)

You settle, then, for enjoying his warmth and the feeling of his firm frame around you. His chest rises and falls against yours, kissing each time you both inhale.

It's calming and peaceful in the darkness of the night. If staying like this wasn't going to be a bitch tomorrow, you would let him sleep like this. 

You break the rhythm of your hearts and pull back slowly and carefully, as not to disturb him too much, but you feel him move with you. His drunken eyes stare back at your ocean blues.

Your heart hammers in your throat, and you try to swallow it down to no avail. You think it might just be the booze kicking up. 

He cages your face in his soft grip, then gives your cheeks a few playful slaps before it rests there. You tilt your head and lean against his touch, opening and closing your jaw to threaten him with your sharp teeth. He only chuckles then releases you from his touch. 

The next few seconds feel longer than they should, and the wind seeps in through the cracks in the wood. You feel somewhat disappointed as you feel the cold take his place and he moves away from you slowly, he's still a little wobbly from the alcohol. You can't help but smile at his attempt to kick his shoes off. 

He sings something that you don't recognize and then praises you for being a great player, as if you were on the field with them today. "Best get some rest, huh?" That's something that makes sense to you.

The light from the lantern highlights his profile. You've looked at this image of him dozens of times before, and yet...

"Thanks, Glen." He says as he finally manages to take his shoes off. 

You snap out of your thoughts. "For what?"

He looks at you. "Showin' up today, what else you fuckwad."

"Yeah, well, I know you know that I wouldn't let it go if you lost."

He waves his hand drunkenly. "Yeah, yeah." He laughs, soft and gentle you can't help but join him.

"I'm glad I was there."

When his eyes meet yours this time, they're full of affection. Affection for you. You're almost overwhelmed by it. "I'm glad too."

Your heart is heavy with feelings in your chests. All sorts of mixed emotions, riding the wave of alcohol. You're not sure if they're good or bad, but you know they're giving you a trip, and you're ready to get high on it. 

Your body demands once more, demands for contact, to respond with his love with more affection. It does not take no for an answer.

You peck him on the lips, it's quick, and over before you even know it. But you could still taste his liquor stained lips on yours, and God, his lips are soft. In those few seconds, they've already tempted you to stay longer. But you don't. 

You become the center of his attention, and you realize what you've just done so you turn away, pretending to be occupied with taking off your shoes and getting into your sleeping bag. 

Maybe he didn't notice, you think... You hope he didn't notice. You hope he's too fucking hammered to notice. 

Wait... What if... You've already passed out and this is all just some weird dream? Yeah. That could be it. 

You shift, giving your back to him and trying to fall asleep in your dream within a dream. 

"Are you gonna get into your sleeping bag or you gonna wait will you freeze to death?" You try to sound as nonchalant as possible. 

"Alright, mom," He chuckles. The lights go off, and you hear him moving in his little bed. "Goodnight, you wasted son of a bitch."

You wait for a while, and then curiosity gets the best of you. You run your tongue over your lips. It mostly tastes like beer, like cheap, sweet, wonderful beer.

Fuck... You hate yourself. 

Suddenly, it becomes a lot harder to fall asleep.


	8. Chapter 7

****

**Chapter 7**

**( _one year later_ )**

Work has been extremely tough on your body today. The cuts and bruises under your shirt don't help. When you looked yourself in the mirror this morning, you thought there was no more room in your body for any more wounds. It's a miracle you're tricking everyone into thinking you're just fine. You're not limping from the excruciating pain in your left leg, where an old shoe imprint is now a faint, fading mark. But your bones won't forget it once it's gone.

It hurts to breathe. You feel as though your rib cage digs into your lungs every time you inhale, leaving little dents that will heal in time. But your lungs will never forget.

The hardest part to cover was your face and your hands. You now wear red fingerless gloves to hide the bruises on your palm and the little scars here and there. There are band-aids on your nose, on both sides of your cheeks, on your forehead, on your chin. You make a dumb excuse for the black eye. You pissed someone off, they threw a punch. Everyone in your workplace would believe that because you're just that hot-headed. Over time your wounds will be replaced with new ones. New bandages will cover your body. But it does not forget.

Your hands thirst for its blood, that thing that has made a habit out of picking you apart and leaving you to put yourself together again with nothing but blasters like tape.

You shiver when you remember last night. How its bigger frame was pressed against yours. Alcohol breath against your skin. Its drunken babbles were incoherent. It cursed your mother, it cursed your golden hair and blue eyes, and it calls you by her name.

It slammed your face against the wall and made you kiss it, saying how you should be thankful. It takes good care of you, it said. It's making a man out of you, and then it leaves you spitting teeth and bleeding on the floor.

You'll get your revenge. You've thought long and hard about it. Tonight, you'll free yourself of his shackles once and for all. Your fingers twitch in excitement at the thought.

For now, you go on with your day as though it was all business as usual.

After work, you meet Titus. For a moment you think of telling him your plan, but you don't. You know he would want to get involved or try to stop you.

You think this could be the last time you see your best friend so you want to make every moment worth it.

"You okay?"

"Huh?" You rub your eyes with your hand. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Work givin' you a tough time?"

"Nah. I was just thinkin' I guess."

He chuckles. "Careful, Glenny. You know how dangerous that can be."

Usually, you'd throw some weak insult at him like tell him to fuck off or shut up. But today, you don't.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

"Hey, man. I was just kidding."

"I know. I just thought I'd let you have this one."

"It's not fun when you don't fight back."

You reach into his pockets all of a sudden and dig out his pack of cigarettes. He doesn't flinch but parts his lips so you can place the roll of tobacco between them. Instead, you put it in your mouth and light it, taking a quick drag just to spite him, and you add to it by blowing the smoke on his face.

"Asshole." He mumbles, but he doesn't sound particularly angry. It gets a laugh out of you regardless and then you finally put the cigarette between his waiting lips.

"How was practice today?"

"The guys really miss you," he jokes. "They're still recovering from the last time you tackled their bones out of place."

"Well tell 'em to grow some balls."

"We were gonna go see this new place," he goes on. "Some fighting arena."

You wonder if it'll be easy for him to move on after today. He'll just hang out with his friends and forget, right?

"Sounds like my kinda shit."

"I thought so too. Skipped uni last week to check out the place. Looked pretty decent," he takes another drag then hands you the cigarette. "Think of joining myself actually."

You grin. "You'll do good. You're real tough. Toughest man I know!"

"You gonna be my cheerleader?" He nudges you playfully and you push him back.

"Fuck you, man."

You hope you get to live to see him fight in the ring and cheer him on. You want to...

"Prettiest cheerleader in all of Martinaise." He keeps going.

"That would be your mom."

He smacks you on the back of the head, you snicker.

"You know I'll be there," you pause, you don't want to make it sound like a promise. "If I can."

He nods. "I know."

"Is the prize worth it?"

He shrugs. "Heard it pays well."

"Your folks know?"

"Of course not. They'd go bonkers."

"Knowin' your old man? No fightin' skills can save you from him."

You both snicker.

"You wanna go into town and---"

You shake your head. "Let's just stay here."

He blinks and tilts his head. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," you lean towards him and rest your head against his shoulder. "Just tired." Your long blonde hair falls to your side like a curtain, a few stray strands fall over your forehead. You miss the concerned gaze in Titus' hazel eyes. He sighs and places his head on top of yours. You watch the tides swing back and forth with the land. The cold breeze is a familiar caress against your skin.

It's a perfect moment.

You close your eyes and let the sound of the lake mix in together with your breathing. Living is such a beautiful thing, such a shitty and fucked up beautiful thing. You never felt more grateful for it. There were days where you wished you wouldn't open your eyes to see the sun, but now...

Titus places his hand on your shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze. You almost hiss. Your aching shoulders wish he would keep going, but the bruises on your skin think otherwise.

You turn your head, your lips hover over the skin of his neck. You're so close you could feel the cold sweat, and see the goosebumps on his skin as you breathe against it. He smells so intoxicating, it makes your body feel light. You feel his hand move up slowly, taking a few strands of your hair to twirl around his fingers.

You want to close your lips around his heartbeat and feel his pulse against your tongue just to know what it's like to really feel alive. The temptation is terrifying.

"Easy there, tiger, " you hear Titus say and you're halted with fear that you've done something in your hazy state. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you were tryin' to kiss me." He chuckles, obviously meaning it as a joke. But you don't take it as such, because to you... To you, it's a desire. A craving deep inside you, trying to crawl out of your body and consume you like a second layer of skin. A thing that keeps you up at night.

You don't want to think about it because when you do, you're afraid you'll come to that horrifying conclusion...

So you continue to feed yourself lies to bury the thing within you, and you shake your head to rid yourself of the thoughts that riddle you, thoughts such as what it would feel like to kiss his lips, truly kiss them. The thought of that night in the shack where you had pecked them is haunting, like a curse you've plagued yourself with.

The thought that you crave more... It's vile.

You want to bury them all and take them with you to the grave.

"Jeez, Glenny. I was just kidding. You're really off your game today, huh?"

You sit up straight and slam the palm of your hand against the side of your skull. "This thing is a little broken today." You joke. To your relief, he finds it funny.

"Well, I think that thing has been out of order for some time. "

"Not like yours is any better."

"We talkin' about our brains or our dicks here?"

Your dumb banters are your favorite part of the day. Titus always delivers his comebacks with so much confidence. You know you're going to lose but it doesn't bother you.

"Come on, " he stands up and brushes the dirt off his pants. "Let's go for a ride." He offers you a hand, you gladly accept. With much ease, he pulls you to your feet.

You untie the ropes keeping the boat stationed and Titus gives it a push to move it further into the water. He hops in and you follow him. The paddles find their comfort in his skilled hands.

Your fingers caress the water, the cold makes them numb.

"Hey, we should get a radio for our shack so we can tune in to the next match."

Drinking beer while yelling at a radio over a rugby game? Sounds like the perfect time. You nod.

"That would be cool."

He looks around for a moment then back at you. "They say I was born on a boat, you know? Don't know if it was this one or not."

"Sounds like a shitty place to give birth."

"Shitty?" He sounds genuinely offended. "You got the water rockin' you and fresh air. Better than a dingy room."

"And snow, cold snow."

"Good thing I'm hot-blooded."

You think maybe almost everyone in Martinaise is, otherwise they wouldn't survive.

"What did you usually do around here anyway? Before we met."

He shrugs. "I looked after the boat and explored the area. I mostly came here to hunt with my dad and take the boat out to fish or whatever."

"Why doesn't your old man come around here no more?"

"'Cause it's my place now. He's found himself another spot."

You chuckle. "What? Did you fight him for it?"

"You know I would have kicked his ass."

You're conflicted. On one hand, Titus is young and very strong. On the other, his father is a skilled hunter. You opt to not respond to this one.

The sky gets darker, drawing your attention to your rapidly draining hourglass.

"We should fish here sometimes."

Fishing is boring, you think. You hate waiting around and doing nothing. You wouldn't do it on your own but you think it might be fun with Titus. Again, you think beer would be involved. Drinking, chatting, and hoping for a big catch that you can take back to shore and cook for dinner before falling asleep under the moonlit sky. Sounds like the perfect evening.

You don't paddle back to shore until the sky is a deep dark blue. Titus thanks the boat for her service by patting her and then you take that fateful walk back home.

You wrap your arms around your best friend, your grip is tighter than usual. He lets you hold him for as long as you need. You inhale and fill your nose with the familiar smell of him.

You hope you'll see him tomorrow.

For a moment you think it's selfish of you to do this. To not tell him, so at least when you're gone, he would know you went on your own terms. You can't imagine him crying but you wonder if he will.

There are so many things you want to say to him. You want to tell him the crappiest, most cheesiest shit, like how much you love him and what he means to you. How thankful you are that you met him, and how honored you are to be his best friend. But those are things you'll keep locked in your heart.

Selfish.

You bring your hand to the back of his head and feel the short spikes of his dark hair against your palm.

You'll miss him.

The cold is cruel when you separate, more so than usual.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I hope."

He tilts his head then looks at your house in the distance. "You don't have to..."

Fuck, why doesn't he just leave you to die?

"Come on. We'll go around back and sneak in through the window."

You shake your head. "I'll be fine, don't be a baby about it."

He arches a brow, the look on his face tells you that you've managed to offend him. "Don't be a baby? Man, I fuckin' worry about you!" The anger in his voice is short-lived, his expression softens. "I'm just tryin'a make sure that you don't end up dead."

Uh-oh.

"I appreciate it, T. I really do," you sigh. "But this ain't your mess. You don't gotta crawl through that shit for me."

"Well too bad."

There's a spark of anger in his eyes. It's not up to you what he wants to do.

Selfish

Have you ever thought of how he feels about this? About seeing you go through this every day?

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

Your words betray you. Your unskilled heart does not find any excuses so you cower away, up the wooden steps, and you wave goodbye to your friend for what might be the last time. "Bye." It's a soft whisper. But you see his muscles lose tension.

Is this how you want your final moments with him to be?

You take one last look at him and then leave.

No time to mourn after that. You walk into the kitchen, where dishes have pilled up in the sink, and beer cans litter the floor, some of it spilled over the counter, dripping down onto the floor. You look for a knife to pocket and then move to the living room. You find the beast on the couch, snoring loudly, so you tiptoe your way into its room and search its cabinet for the gun you know it has. A small box on top of the shelf catches your eye, chained, and locked. You try to find a key but you think the beast carries it with it. You take the box regardless, you'll have the key when it's dead.

You stand behind it and feel repulsed at the sight of it. Drunken and pitiful, and yet somehow, you wouldn't exist without it. Its cum stained pants are a reminder of that. Well, at least this time it had the decency to cover itself up.

The knife in your hand tells you its ready. You close both your hands around the handle. No goodbyes. It does not deserve it. You will not regret or mourn. You won't even cry. You bring the knife down, and just then, you're met with its devilish eyes, open wide in surprise. You don't lose focus. You plunge the knife into its broad chest. Its hands come up to stop you. Blood stains the tip of the knife. It's dark and vile. Almost like slimy ooze.

You try to shove the knife further in, your hands shake with the power of your push but it does not allow you to rip through its vessel any further.

Its gigantic arms easily overpower you and leave you stabbing the couch instead. It wraps one arm around your head and bends its back, throwing you forward and onto the floor. Before you have time to react, its on top of you. Its entire body engulfs your figure, trying to push it off is futile but you do it anyway.

"You ungrateful piece of shit." It hisses at you. "I should have killed you before she had you," its voice becomes louder, angrier. You will not see tomorrow. "You're ungrateful, just like that whore."

"Fuck you!" You bark back. You're going to die anyway so might as well.

You dodge a punch, the wood beneath you sobs in pain. It brings its leg up and presses you down with its knee on your chest. Its weight almost crushes your lungs.

It hurts.

Your bones plead with you to do something. To release them from this weight. You throw a punch, it lands, but it only makes the devil sink his pitchfork deeper into your chest.

Another punch, and another, until you see blood dripping down its chin but it remains as still as a rock.

You dont stop struggling. Your anger gives you a boost of adrenaline but it does little to help with the ache in your chest. When it gets tired of watching you squirm like a bug, it finally retaliates, sending its knee down hard against your chest forcing you to gasp, but it gives you little time to gather air before its fist connects with your nose. A barrage of punches follow. It stands up and kicks you hard enough to send you rolling across the floor.

You push yourself to your hands and knees and cough. Spit and blood splatter on the floor.

"Come on, boy. Show me your balls. It's about time you grow a pair." He mocks you. The anger in you is almost painful and in your blind rage, you rush at it and try to tackle it down. Somehow you manage to do just that, and then you send a fury of fists across its face until it kicks you off. Your feet are quick to react and get you back up, but no matter how many times you pick yourself up, it slams you back down again.

You try to make a run for the knife, still lodged into the couch. "I'll slit your throat!" You warn it.

It laughs at you, and rightfully so. It could swat the knife out of your hand with ease. Aim for the heart, if this beast has one, then bring it to a stop.

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the knife tightly, and you dash towards him with your eyes on the jackpot. A rhino's mighty horn, ready to strike. You're a one man stampede.

It puts its hand out, pressing its palm against your forehead. Though it was effective in bringing you to a halt, it did little to keep you from springing your arms forward and shoving the knife into its chest. It grabs your arm with its other hand and slams it against its knee, once, twice, and hard enough the third time to hear your bones crack. You can't keep yourself from yelling in pain.

It relishes its victory, you can see it in its yellow crooked teeth.

You don't have time to deal with the pain as the monster pins you down and takes the knife in its enormous hand, and then plants it in your shoulder, forcing out another scream from you.

"Cry," it says. "You worthless bitch."

You try to shove it off with your good hand but you know it's futile.

It takes a fist full of your shirt and punches you repeatedly, again and again until you stop resisting its attacks.

Your eyes are swollen, your nose twisted at an angle, making it hard for you to breathe, your lips bruised and bloodied. This is how you'll go.

"Piece of shit."

Your rib cage is like claws around your lungs, making you wheeze whenever you try to get any air in.

Everything hurts.

You can't move. You can't even bring yourself to crawl. You don't allow yourself to cry, not even in those final moments. You won't let it have the last laugh.

A weight lifts, and you think you're finally blacking out. Sweet, sweet oblivion, a kind mistress, here to numb the pain.

But the darkness does not welcome you. Instead, you see the cracks on the roof as the demon takes another jab at you, stomping on your wounded shoulder, and then on your chest, knocking out all the air you've struggled to breathe in.

You feel like throwing up, your saliva mixes with blood in your mouth, and you feel the acid in your stomach rising up. You blink the tears away and watch as it leans down. "You owe me," it tells you. "Cause I ain't gonna kill you. Be fucking thankful. Now get up." It orders. You can't get up even if you wanted to. Your body cannot move. It kicks you. "I said get the fuck up." You can't. It kicks you again.

"Fucking useless cunt." It spits on you, straight on your face, "a f*ggot like you should be sucking my cock. It's all you little pussy-boys are good for." One last kick and then it leaves you to bleed out on the floor. You know it's going to go into its room and jack off to its victory. That bastard. That fucking bastard. 

You're too tired to feel angry. So you just close your eyes and let blood pool beneath you from the gash on your shoulder.

Perhaps now you will be welcomed into hell. 

...

...

...

The door slams open. You hear muffled voices, and then a gunshot.

...

...

There are bright lights. You think it finally happened, you're finally dead.

"Hang in there, Glenny."

Huh. Those angels sure do have a familiar voice

"You're gonna be alright."

They're comforting. It almost makes you feel at peace.

"You better not do this to me you bastard!" If you didn't know any better, you would say the angels sounded hurt.

It's silent after that... for a long time. There's nothing but this beautiful world of nothingness... And then you finally open your eyes.

You don't recognize where you are but it sure doesn't look anything like heaven or hell. God was a hoax! You knew it!

You blink a few times and try to move, only to feel the great weight of pain on your shoulder. You try to scan the room with your eyes without moving. It's dim, the only light is coming from a window to your left. The moonlight highlights a figure sitting on a chair next to you, snoring peacefully with his arms crossed. His features are completely shadowed by the cap he's wearing but you still recognize him.

Titus.

This doesn't look like the Hardie residence so you're sure you're not in Titus's home. You're not even sure if this is home at all.

You try to make out your friend's face underneath the shadows but they veil him. All you can hear is his steady breathing. It reminds you of just how fucked your lungs feel. You could really use a smoke right about now.

He shifts, lowering his head and resting his cheek against his shoulder, further blocking you from seeing him. But despite that, you still feel a great sense of serenity in his presence, like you could fall asleep and everything will be alright.

As your body wakes up, you start to feel more and more of the pain coming back, so you decide to close your eyes and rest till the sun claims the sky.

It's easier to fall asleep this time.

It's silent for a while, only you and lady darkness. Her great abyss surrounds you and you walk, weightless, in her valleys of pure unending blackness.

And then, you hear murmurs in the distance. You can't pinpoint from what direction but you walk towards it regardless. It gets louder and louder, and then you're met with the sun. It's a new day.

Titus calmly approaches you and kneels down beside the bed. "Howdy." He says. Underneath the kindness of his voice, you sense the familiar feeling of anger, of fear, but there's also relief.

"Howdy." Your voice is tired but it makes him smile regardless.

"You've been out for years. I got me a wife and a family and you missed my wedding," He chuckles but it dies out quickly. His expression becomes harsh. "I'm gonna kill him, Glenny. I'll fuckin' kill him."

Titus is not usually violent. If he could fix a situation by talking it out, he will. But that look in his narrow eyes, made darker by the shadow cast by his cap tells you that he is ready to commit murder, if not beat your old man to death withnd it ain't pretty.

"What happened?"

He shrugs. "You didn't show up so I went to your place. Saw you through the window just," he gestures vaguely. Must have been an ugly sight. "I break the front door down and, your old man, he's just sitting there," he laughs out of disbelief. "He's just sitting there," he says again with a lot more anger. "I told him I was gonna take you to get patched up, of course, he lost his shit. Started throwin' insults at me like a sailor. I picked you up anyway, it really pissed him off."

"Did he hurt you?"

"Nah. The moment he got up I told him I was packing and I know how to use it." He lifted his jacket to show you his gun. "I gave him a warnin' shot. He didn't really have a choice after." There's regret in his eyes. He thinks he should have shot him right then and there. He should have been there for you. "But he fucked you up pretty hard."

You feel pretty fucked too.

"You know how many broken bones you got?"

Well, there goes your paycheck for the next few months.

He pulls out his gun and gives it to you. "You remember what my dad taught us about shooting?"

You nod.

"Keep it. Next time that bastard tries anythin' you blow his fuckin' brains out."

The weight of the gun in your good hand is powerful. You inspect the thing like it's a piece of jewelry. It's such a beauty.

Titus puts his hand over yours as if he was going to take your new child away. You look up at him in a mix of confusion and protective anger. "I'm trusting you with this, Glen. Don't make me regret it."

"I won't." You say almost immediately. He let's go and smiles.

"You must be hungry. I'll go grab somethin' for us to eat."

You don't want him to leave. Despite having a gun with you now, there's still a sense of security coming straight from the man with you. But you say nothing as he walks away.

You look back at the gun in your hand, and you think you can hear it whisper to you in the silence. It reminds you of every dead child on the street, and the red snow covering the ground. It reminds you of the blood on your hands, of young teens you've taken your anger out on. Of the violent satisfaction you felt when their cockiness turned into fear.

You're just like your old man, it says. You get off on hurting others. It's not your fault, you try to convince yourself. It made you that way. It's its fault you've hurt those people, it's its fault you have these violent thoughts.

Titus keeps you grounded. The anchor at the harbor in the middle of a storm. For every time you jumped a dumb kid that didn't know any better, he was there to keep you from killing them.

The momentary high was not worth a person's life, you knew that. But you can't help yourself. It feels so fucking good to be in control for a change.

Control. Power. Dominance.

You crave those things.

Your knuckles tingle with life as you recall the feeling of them slamming against the sharp square jaws of your best friend. You fight a lot, physically, because punching is easier than talking.

There's a sick desire in you to bring your friend to his knees. You hate entertaining those fantasies. They make you feel ill. But as you close your eyes, you see the image of him, much like yourself now, bloodied, bruised, and his face trapped in the cage of your hands. You wonder how much he can endure.

You could kiss his bloodied lips just to taste your fists on them, and worship his body for its sacrifice to tame you.

You think this is what Titus meant when he said you were a hunter, that you eye men like prey.

To think this man just saved you're life, and you're here wondering just how hard you can beat him...

"Got us some sandwiches," Titus announces as he walks in and closes the door behind him. "And some beers of course. Should help you with the pain."

And just like that, you're whisked away from your dark, wonderful thoughts. Probably for the best.

He takes a seat next to you in the old creaky bed and puts down the six-pack of beer. A bottle for him, he cracks it open. Then a bottle for you, he does the same. "Want help with that?" He jokes and reaches out to put the bottle to your lips.

"Very funny." You take the bottle with your good hand and have a sip. It's cold and refreshing and hits you like a boxer's fist.

When you lower your head you notice Titus staring at your left arm, broken and useless. There's a mix of pain and anger in his expression. You wonder how often he looks at you like this.

It'll take a while for you to recover from this. But you will, eventually. You don't want him to sit here and feel sorry for you.

"I know I'm hot as hell, but you gonna give me my sandwich or you just gonna stare at me?"

He laughs. "That you are, buddy. Real chick magnet." He takes a sandwich from the bag and puts it next to you. "Eat up, pretty boy."

You know Titus is just teasing but those compliments from him... They really boost your confidence. A part of you hopes he means them as more than just a joke.

Both of you enjoy your food in semi-silence. You exchange small talk between bites and sips of beer.

It's the best you've felt since you've woken up. But every now and then, when it's quiet, you can't help but think that Titus is conducting some sort of revenge plan.

What little empathy you have in you tells you to reassure him that it's going to be alright, but you can't bring yourself to say that when you don't even believe in it. You're used to Titus being the one who does the comforting. All you can do is smile at him, and hope it's a sign enough that you'll make it through this. You always do.

Your bruised smile is not pretty but he smiles back and you feel his pinky finger brush over your purple and blue knuckles. A small gesture, a big promise.

It's going to be alright.


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one gets NSFWish, lads. Buckle up.

**Chapter 8**

They let you leave after two weeks. Your shoulder no longer aches but your hand still has some healing to do. You doubt it'll have a chance to fully heal before the fucker at home breaks it again.

Your home is unwelcoming as always. The air is suffocating, you see insects crawling out of the wall. The stench of booze and smoke is just the norm now. You crack the window open so you don't gag on the smell.

It's quiet. You're grateful that the beast is not home. You take the chance to do some cleaning. You don't want to, but if you don't, no one will. You check your room, nothing has changed since you left. You look at its room. There are smashed cans of beer on the bed, and a few magazines. You pick up the cans and put them into a trash bag before taking a look at the magazine. You didn't need to pick it up to know it was porn. The bed told you what you needed to know before you even took a look at the cover.

It wasn't the first time you saw one of these magazines, any idiot could get his hands on a stack of those. Flipping through it, you look at the various images of women in suggestive poses with their tits out, and of course, men as well, fucking women. Every man's wet dream, printed out on paper. Pussy and dick galore.

The men in these magazines are not much different than those you see on sports weekly. Strong dominant males, their big bodies can easily pin any woman down.

Those few times you've tried to sleep with women, you remember how easy it was. It was too easy to even be satisfactory. That should have been a turn on, right?

But you didn't feel turned on. Not one bit. You think you would have preferred someone who fought back. Someone who challenged your own masculinity.

You wouldn't beat a woman up, of course not! Your old man has shown you how awful that could be. You shiver at the dark memories, of nights where IT has brought some poor ladies home, it was harder than usual to sleep when they were screaming all night... 

You don't want to think about that so you shake your head. Petite pretty little ladies aren't your type anyway.

You like someone who can take a good thrashing. Someone tough. Someone strong. Someone like...

You shake your head again, this time with more force and you laugh to yourself. Titus and you always joked that if either of you were a woman, you would totally bang.

You argued about who would top if you were to fuck, which ended in a squabble with no clear winner. You remember his face, laughing through the blood on his teeth. His bruised cheek, his bloodied nose. Your aching bones called for his lips and his touch, and more importantly, they called for your teeth and your nails, to dig into him as if he were a rabbit in your claws

It was a strange sensation, always is. You think you like being close to him because he gives you a sense of security and safety. He loves you. No one else in this world does. No one cares about you, but he does. Who else in this damn world would let you beat them up for fun? You like spending time with him, of course, you do. You're just confused because you've never been this close to anyone before.

But your dick disagrees.

You look down at it, then back at the magazine at hand. At those big tits and spread legs. Beauty queens waiting for some horny guy to blow one for them.

Then you look at the men. An entire fucking package. Big muscles, bigger dicks. Red lips eagerly wrapped around them. Sometimes two men fucked a single woman. Long girthy cocks in fleshy pink holes. The look on the men's face is of pure ecstasy.

Pussy doesn't really feel as great as they make it out to be, you think. Right? You decide to consult your cock on this one. Your dick agrees.

You turn the page. More tits, more vaginas. Your dick is not very impressed.

Next one, and it's of a man chained up in leather while the woman has a whip. Now that's more like it.

Your dick approves but not for the same reasons you think.

"The fuck do you want then?"

It tells you that you know what it wants, and it's not pretty. No, it's not a beating your meat, though that option does sound very enticing right now.

Think, it says. Which is an odd thing for your dick to say; oftentimes dicks don't want you to think, they want you to fuck mindlessly.

Fucking nerd penis. Thinking is for smart people.

You would punch it if you knew it wouldn't hurt. Not the way your dick wants to be beaten.

Before you can escalate this fight with your cock any further, you hear the door open. You drop the magazine and rush out of the room.

"Is that you scurrying around like a bug, boy?!" The beast yells.

You want to go to your room but it'll see you anyway so you meet it in the narrow hallway.

It doesn't say anything immediately, but the way it glares at you tells you all you need to know. 'You have a lot of guts showing your face around here after the shit you pulled.'

"You come crawling back after you got done sucking dick."

"Fuck off, old man. I wasn't suckin' any dicks."

Shit. You shouldn't be stirring up a fight with it now. Your arm is still healing.

"Yeah? 'Cause your little boyfriend showed his face some time ago---"

You dont let him finish. "My friend," you emphasize. "Saw me bleedin' the fuck out on the floor while you just sat there."

"How big is his dick, Huh?"

"Fuck you." You try to walk past it but it blocks your path.

"Did he fuck your pussy good?"

Your face is red with rage and you grit your teeth.

"Fuck off, old man!" You say again, voice loud enough to be a yell.

"The little bitch barks, she wasn't taught her lesson."

You try to pass by again.

The violent side of you tells you to pick a fight. It's what that monster wants. But you're in no shape to do so, especially not since you barely made it through last time.

You have a gun with you this time. That pretty little thing is thirsting for some action, and your fingers ache to pull the trigger.

"Get me a few packs of beers tonight if you're planning on going out with your boyfriend."

A switch in your head flips. You snap. "You talk big but you haven't gotten pussy in decades. You're only gettin' off on this. It's sad. Now fuck off."

It knees you in the stomach. A well-deserved hit. You double over and it leaves you clutching your abdomen. This is just amusing to it. It slammed against you as it passed you by, one final attempt to piss you off, before disappearing into its room.

You got off lightly this time. Lucky bastard.

You pick yourself up head to your room for a quick change before heading into the kitchen. You take every last pack of beer with you and grab your bag then leave.

Titus meets you halfway through the crossroad between your place and his.

You don't head to the lake like you usually do. Instead, you walk through Martinaise aimlessly. Two free birds, going where the wind takes you.

"By the way, I got a match next week." You can't tell if he means rugby or boxing.

"A match?"

"Prizefighting." Oh. "Wanna come?"

"Thought the underground was off-limits for 'non-adults'."

He gestures vaguely. "Yeah well, you're gonna be 18 in a few months anyway so."

Honestly, you've been dying to watch Titus kick ass in the ring. His words are music to your ears. "You know I'll be there then."

"Cool," he playfully punches your arm. "If I can take you on then I think I can take anyone on. You're a big mean fighting machine, Glenny."

Only he can make you believe that.

You wish your bones weren't fucking broken so you could spar with him, help him practice. Still, though, you get to watch him work out in the gym. It's amusing, to say the least.

You head there the next day after he's done with classes. A few of his friends tag along to your disappointment. You like it better when it's just the two of you.

You're jealous and you know it. You have no reason to be but you can't help it.

"Aren't you gonna put on your workout shorts, goldie locks?" One of his friends say and you want to punch that condescending tone right out of his vocal cords.

"Are you fuckin' blind?" You point at your broken arm, wrapped in bandages.

"Woe is you, man." He laughs as he walks away. Asshole.

Titus jogs up to you and beckons you to follow him. You do. "Count for me, would you?"

You tilt your head. "Is this a joke?"

"You can count, can't you?"

You shrug. "I mean, yeah." But not very high is what you wanted to say.

He gets down on his hands and knees, body stretched, and starts doing push-ups. You count.

And count.

And count...

And...

"What's after sixty-nine?"

He looks up at you. "Can't tell if you're just pullin' my leg here."

You're not.

He chuckles, as though he thinks it's cute. "Seventy. Then eighty, then ninety, then a hundred."

You nod. "Okay." You'll definitely remember that.

He gets to a hundred then sits up, only to lie down on his back. You know what to do. You carefully put your hands on his feet to keep them down and try not to press too much on your broken hand.

"You okay?"

"Good to go, captain."

He gives you a warm smile before doing crunches. You think that every time he comes up he's closer and closer to your face, or perhaps you're the one leaning towards him. You're not sure. But you know that by the time he hit his goal and sat up, the two of you were basically touching noses.

"How was that?" He doesn't bother to pull away. You think you can feel your cheeks burn up so you look away, and push yourself back slightly. People could be looking at you and they could get the wrong idea.

"Pretty impressive." You try to sound nonchalant.

The sweat makes his skin glisten. You notice the little scars here and there, sprinkled throughout his body. A timeline of events marked by each scar. You remember most of them. You'd like to trace them. Your fingers call for contact, to connect the scars, and make a map on his body. But also you're in public, so you just let your arms retreat to your side.

Your dick would like to give its opinion on the sight before you. You ignore it. Now is not the time.

You watch Titus from a safe distance as he beats the hell out of a punching bag. He's very swift, and light on his feet. You would think he was born for this, actually, you're pretty sure he is. Your eyes meet his and he grins at you.

You wait till he's done before walking up to him and giving him a bottle of water. "You look like you need this."

He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Thanks." He downs half the bottle before handing it back to you. "I'll clean up and we can leave. Hope you're hungry."

You look back at the other guys, still bench pressing. "They taggin' along?"

He shrugs. "Don't think so. They were just here to train." And then he's gone, missing the look of relief on your face.

You leave the gym as soon as Titus is back. You head to the closest diner and get yourselves some juicy burgers.

Titus describes a boxing match he watched with great detail. He's studying his opponents and their patterns. A very smart strategy. Maybe you should start studying his techniques more closely too.

"Anyway," he takes a bite out of his burger. "You seen your old man today?"

"Yeah. He left early in the mornin'."

"I'm surprised he remembers that he has a job most of the time."

"Me too. He seriously needs to get laid. Been finding a lot of his porn magazines around."

"I would pity whoever tries to sleep with him. You grabbed the magazines by any chance?"

You smirk. "Why? You need 'em?"

He laughs. "No. I meant for you, dumbass."

You shrug. "I looked through 'em. It's hard to try and jack off when some pages got jizz stains on them."

Both of you shiver in disgust. "Fuckin' gross, man."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

You should ask him about bondage, your dick enquires. Just out of curiosity of course.

You toy with a piece of fries for a bit, dipping it in some ketchup before munching on it. "I did find somethin' though," you start. Honestly, you're not really sure how to approach the subject. "In the magazine I mean."

"Yeah?"

"Rope play or whatever," you wave your hand aimlessly. "Bondage."

"I hope you dont have any poor women tied up somewhere." He jokes.

"Of course not!" You sink back in your seat. Shit, man. This is awkward. "I was just curious to know what you thought about it."

"You gotta get you a real feisty lady for shit like that. I don't know if I like the idea of being tied while a woman smacks my balls or whatever. Wouldn't want to be smackin' around a woman around either."

He's too dominant to be tied down, and so are you. But you like the idea of being the person with the whip. When you take a moment to imagine it, you think of the men you saw in the magazine being at your mercy while you have your fun with them.

Knives, guns, whips, leather. You don't think any woman can handle you.

So it has to be a man, your dick thinks.

You glance down at it and wonder... **_What the fuck?_**

A woman can't handle you, but men like Titus Hardie can.

It's obvious, your genitals say. You were literally just thinking about torturing a man. You always think about men. You like their bodies. Vaginas are for the weak straight men who want an easy target to dominate. You're a different breed. A new kind of animal. You are here to dominate the dominant species. Make the strongest of men squeal for you. Does that not sound appealing?

It does. But you're not a f*ggot.

Your dick is silent.

"Hello? Earth to Glen."

You snap out of your thoughts.

"What? Were you thinkin' about roping some lady up?"

Not exactly.

"Man, both you and your old man need to get laid."

Is he offering? You should ask if he's offering.

You lean forward and smirk. "Why? Are you offering?"

He gives you a disgusted look, you feel yourself panicking. "I would fuck you but your old man? Not even for all the money in this God damn world, buddy."

You chuckle, more out of relief than anything.

"As long as you don't tie me up and beat me to death, you kinky bastard." His laughter overpowers your chuckle and brings life to the relatively silent diner.

"Pussy."

"Hey, you go hard. I know that for a fact. My shoulder is still healing from the last time we fought. Sometimes I think you should be in the ring instead of me but I also worry about those folks. You don't know when enough is enough, Glenny."

You don't. And sometimes it scares you. When you throw that first punch, it's hard to stop. You might actually kill someone someday.

It's fucked, but you think you might just enjoy it.

It sounds like edgy thoughts from an edgy teen. But you do genuinely feel pleasure from delivering pain. You think it's just because you like knowing someone is weaker than you are. It makes you feel better about yourself.

Titus smiles at you, it's that special smile that he gives you when you need reassurance that it's okay. "No ropes on the first date. Maybe after a couple."

When and where? Your mind asks, as though Titus had meant it literally.

You don't like it.

You don't like your body and your organs teaming up against you. You know Titus is just your friend. You know you're not queer. You like tits! You do! And he likes women too.

This has to be just some puberty bullshit or some dumb teen phase.

Maybe you're just misunderstanding things. Feelings have never been something you're good with. You would ask Titus but... you think you would rather bite your own tongue off.

You're on your own.

You split the bill with Titus and head off. You dance around each other on the street, circling each other with the person leading the conversation often stepping ahead and walking backward so you were face to face as you blabbed on and on about music, current events, and of course, sports.

The buildings around you watch with nostalgia. They were once young and strong like you as well, so full of life and energy, now forgotten with time, and you walk blissfully unaware.

There's blood on the streets under your feet but you and Titus are unbothered by it. For a moment you wonder what happened, but after living in Martinaise for so long, it doesn't take too much of an imaginative mind to make a scenario.

Titus is silent for a moment as the streets continue to tell you their story with blood drops that turn into dried pools, and then it just stops.

Titus looks up at you, he's glad you're alive.

Memento Mori, you think. And as though he could read your thoughts, you feel him nod slightly. He was just thinking the same thing.

You've met with death many times before and you have the scars to prove it. There were many times where you had asked for her sweet merciful embrace to just take you as her child and allow you to leave all this behind. But as you look at Titus, you see just how thankful he is that this isn't his blood and it's not yours. He wants you to stay... so how can you not?

You don't go home that night. He doesn't let you, Instead, you go to his place and grab some spare clothes then camp outside.

The moon is a bright orb in the sky. You and Titus draw shapes using the stars.

"If you connect these stars you can make a dick"

The two of you laugh.

Titus rolls over and turns on the radio he took from his room. He moves the dials and after a while of nothing interesting. He settles on rock music. You grab a beer and hand it to him then take one for yourself. You drink, and you talk, as the music in the background sings about some guy upset about his cheating girlfriend.

"You think Martinaise will ever get any better?"

You stare at your bottle for a moment, thinking, before taking a sip. "No. We ain't got nothin'; No pigs, no law, nothin' stoppin' nobody from gunnin' down everythin' and everyone."

He nods. "You're right. Think somebody's gotta do somethin' about that."

You tilt your head. "What? You wanna dress up and play pig?"

He smacks you on the back of the head. "Fuck no. Martinaise doesn't need cops. I just think no ones doin' anythin' about this."

You rub the back of your head. "Well, what can anyone do?"

He shrugs and finishes his bottle. "Don't know. But I'll think about it."

You're not sure if he's serious.

He turns his attention back to the radio and suddenly he's all smiles. He stands and pulls you up with him. Before you know it, he's leading you into a dance. Of course, you don't know how to dance so you let him take the first steps and you follow. Soon enough you fall into a rhythm. He grabs your bottle from your hand and takes a drink before handing it back to you. You try not to spill too of it while you dance around the small fire. He hooks his arm with yours, your footsteps are a stampede against the cold ground. His head bobs up and down to the beat of the song. You both laugh and shout and stain your clothes with the beer that misses your lips. By the time the song ends, the two of you slump down back on the ground, eyes full of joyful tears.

Peace fills the silence after your laughter had left. You look at Titus. He seems very tired. You both seek warmth in your blankets, but you don't sleep, not for a while longer. He doesn't want to sleep. He wants to stay up till the morning, but Martinaise puts her gentle hand over his eyes and pulls him to dreamland.

You watch him, the way his chest rises and falls, and the soft expression on his face. You wonder what he's dreaming about, and if it includes you.

You dream about him a lot. Sometimes the dreams are inexplicably bizarre. Sometimes they're more like wet dreams, to say the least. Sometimes they're far darker. You dream of your fights, a dark fantasy of having power over him. The thought wakes your dick.

You're sick. You got that monster's dirty blood in you.

You would never hurt Titus though, not the way that monster hurts you. Never. You would rather be choking on your own blood.

You lie down, tugging the blanket just enough to cover yourself without stealing it from your sleeping companion. You turn to your side and your body tells you to scoot closer to him, keep him warm and let him keep you warm. You fight the thought. 

Your hands are curious. Your fingers imagine themselves running across his masculine arms. Your body agrees, and it defies you when you tell it to stop.

Your desire is animalistic, a dog on a leash, barking, and snapping. You want to set it free but you can't. You don't want to accept what setting it free means.

You're terrified of yourself, of what you are becoming. All that you are becoming. Have you always been like this? Or is the leash simply getting weaker?

You give in to your fear and move closer to Titus. You're slightly taller than he is, he fits you like a missing puzzle piece. All you have to do is wrap your arms around him, and let him make you whole.

You ache for it, you crave it, more than you can even comprehend.

It's hard to fall asleep, even when you shut your eyes as tightly as you could. The darkness does not take you.

You feel Titus shift next to you and you freeze. He ducks his head, simply resting it under your chin. You're not sure if he's awake, and you don't dare open your eyes to check.

What have you done?

You try to keep your breathing even. The only comfort you find is from the fact that there's still distance between your bodies.

If anyone saw you like this... You'd be dead before morning.

Overthinking

Head overheating

Sleep

You need to sleep...

Just sleep.

You try to distract yourself by going over the rules of Rugby. A try is 5 points, that's when you slide into the goal. You can score two more points after a try with a conversion, and that's when you kick the ball, if it goes between the crossbar, you earn 2 extra points.

You calm down.

The rugby field is far more welcoming than the darkness. It's easier to wear yourself out playing an imaginary game of Rugby than slipping into the abyss, and once you're tired of tackling the fuck out of every player on the field, you finally, finally lie down on the green grass and fall asleep.

Martinaise shuts off her last light.


	10. Chapter 9

****

**Chapter 9**

The cold kisses you good morning and you shift in the sheets. You feel something hard against you, and a strange warmth over your body where the cold cannot reach. Your eyes snap open, you forgot where you are.

Titus is tangled in your arms, and you're wrapped up in his. Your brain full-on stops working. This is serious and there's little you can do to stop the ear-piercing shriek that left you. Titus wakes up in an ungraceful panic, you rarely ever see his narrow eyes grow this wide. 

"What the fuck, man?!"

You push yourself away from him and back into your part of the mattress. He looks confused, tilting his head. He almost looks like a lost dog. And then it finally clicks in his head. His laughter scares the birds in the trees. 

"Really, Glenny?" He smirks. "I've seen you naked, pretty sure I even touched your dick before. We had tons of sleepovers before where we slept close, but you're gonna be a little pussy bitch about some contact while we sleep?" He rubs his chin. "Unless you were having some wet dream."

"No!" You shake your head furiously. "I was just... surprised. That's all."

"What? Thought I was a weird hairy lady?" He laughs again. "We know you can't score one." That teasing grin on his face tickles your nerves. He knows you're not gonna do shit about it. What? You gonna punch him? You tried that before. "Anyway, we should get goin'. Sun's up. You got a job to do, don't you? And I got a test today so." He gets up and stretches and oh it's muscles galore. His scars put on display for you to see and you wonder if he's doing that intentionally just to toot your horn. 

"How's your hand feelin'?"

You look at your hand. Your fingers don't hurt as much when you move them anymore. 

"Can I check that? Or are you gonna be a dickhead about that too?" 

You give him a sour look but extend your hand for him anyway. He is gentle in the way he holds it. His finger presses on your palm, slowly applying more and more pressure to see if hurts. You don't feel much. Titus is pleased about it. 

He unties the bandages around your wounds and picks up a water bottle from the ground, pouring the cold liquid over the cuts to clean them. The chilling water is unkind and makes you shiver. 

"Don't push yourself too hard, alright?" 

He sounds so caring, you can't help but nod instead of giving an argument about how you're a big strong manly man and you can take care of yourself. 

He clicks his tongue and you see the slight look of playfulness coexisting with annoyance on his features. "You're such a dumbass, you know that, right?" 

"Hey! What the fuck did I do?"

"Aside from being a dumbass?"

You huff. 

He ignores you and pulls a roll of bandages from his bag, wrapping it around your arm. You're oblivious, and so disconnected from basic human emotions to know just how dumb you are. 

"There we go. Good as New, champ."

You move your arm up and down and nod to yourself. "Thanks, T."

"Sure thing, bud."

You go your separate ways. A familiar hard farewell. You become aware of the void inside you when he's not here and it's pretty pathetic. You try not to think about it and occupy yourself with work. Your co-workers wonder where you've been, you realize you don't trust them enough to tell them the real reason your arm is broken. You don't want them to think you're daddy's bitch who can't fight back. So you tell them an exaggerated story about how you ended up in a bar fight and totally kicked ass. 

"A kid like you shouldn't even be at a bar."

"Shut up," you bark at them. "I bet I can drink more than all of you."

They laugh. They wouldn't be laughing when you bite off chunks of their skin, you think. That'll shut them up. You chuckle to yourself at the dark and disturbing imagery that has taken over your mind. They stare at you like you just grew a second head, perhaps it was something in the way you laughed to yourself. Whatever the reason, it's good that it planted a seed of fear in their hearts. 

Your job is merciless on your shoulders but you power through it. You already missed out on a two week's pay. 

Shit. This cannot be good for your healing process. You could really use some painkillers or beer to numb the pain down. 

The weather is at least kind to you. In the afternoon, the cold is not as harsh. It does not bite at your skin like a rabid animal, instead, it provides you with enough cold to keep you refreshed. 

You try to balance most of the baggage you have to carry on your healthy arm, which slowed you down. On good days you would be carrying double what you are now but who's keeping score, right? You're not getting paid according to how much you lift. 

You power through it regardless. 

As you walk out of the warehouse, you hear a voice shout "look out!" You look at the direction of the voice just in time to see the crane's rope snap and drop a giant steel box just barely missing you, it's so close that the gust of wind makes your hair dance before resting back on your shoulders. The workers who were in front of you were not as lucky. The sound of their bones cracking under the weight of the steel echoes in your ear. You look down slowly, as though the ground will shatter beneath you if you move too quickly. There's a pool of blood oozing out from under the steel create, rushing towards you, and sticking to the bottom of your shoes. You see an arm from under the heavy container, spazzing, twitching... and then it stops. 

You can't look away. 

There are men rushing to the scene. They can't lift the create. There's no use... everyone under it is dead. That you know for sure. Your brain can't stop drawing images of them, their flattened mutilated and disfigured faces under the steel, their broken bones, and their eyes popped out of their sockets. It makes your stomach flip. 

The world around you is a speeding car, and yet you feel like everything is in slow motion. You can't bring yourself to move from your spot, and no one seems to really bother with you, not for a long while. 

They move you away from the scene just in time to keep you from seeing the bodies as they lift the steel, but you get a glimpse... and it was enough to haunt you for the rest of your life. 

You don't move for the rest of the day. No one expects you to. You've just escaped death, barely. You're so detached from reality that you don't feel someone sit next to you. You see a hand, offering you a cigarette but it's a hot minute before you take notice of it. 

You accept the cigarette with shaking hands. You try to keep yourself from trembling but it's difficult. 

"I should just never leave your side, huh? I leave you and suddenly the entire world is tryin'a kill you."

Titus Hardie lights the cigarette for you and you take a shaky breath.

He lowers his head and tries to look at you, you avoid his gaze. "I'm glad you're alright."

"Thanks." You force it like spitting out glass. 

"We should get out of here. Your buddies were kind enough to tell me where your locker was so I picked up your shit."

You nod. You'd rather be away from here. You blow out a deathly cloud of smoke before hopping off the bench where you were sitting.

The lake is a comforting sight. Your safe haven. And yet, it feels as though your body is in the water and your soul is on land. It takes more than one cigarette to calm you down. 

You don't attend work for two weeks, and on the day you're there, this happens. You're a bad luck magnet, Glenny.

Titus watches you puff out one circle of smoke after the other. He reaches out, his hand a phantom against your skin. You look at him. He's smiling softly, and for some reason, you suddenly feel like crying. Perhaps they're tears of relief. You're not sure. But you don't shed a single one. Your body compromises and instead tells you to fall forward into Titus's safe embrace. But you don't do that either you simply sit and stare. 

"These things happen, Glenny. It's fucked but it is what it is."

He sounds sympathetic, he's not disregarding your pain or telling you to get over it. But you know he's right. It's just a part of life. You've seen people die all around Martinaise every day... But not like this. Your shoulder aches at the thought of the pain they endured. You wonder if they died instantly or if they suffered. 

Titus lifts your head, his hands trap you in a warm and safe cage. His hazel eyes are a land and a stable harbor in your ocean blue eyes. 

"I keep hearing the sound of their bones... Bein' crushed."

He brings his hands to your ears and presses his palms against them, blocking out all the sounds of the world. You can only focus on him. 

He wants you to know he's there for you the only way he knows how to, and luckily it's effective because you let your fears slip out from in between your lips with a sigh, and you tilt your head slightly so you can lean in closer to his touch. 

The world is nonexistent, it's only you and him. 

Your fingers twitch, longing to feel his skin, for you to put your hand over his and squeeze, to give yourself that comfort. But you don't. You suddenly feel very tired. Tired of this longing that you don't understand. Tired of the itch you can't seem to scratch. Tired of your body conspiring against you. 

It makes you angry, and you grit your teeth behind your closed lips. 

Do you lack love so much that you're so desperate to feel it in the one person who has ever given you attention?

Why did you just think that? Why did you think of love?

Why? Why is your mind doing this to you? To mock you? To make you feel like shit? To confirm that you're just a pussy-boy like your old man always suspected? 

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You want to be angry. You want to lash out, lash out at yourself, and... Lash out at Titus. 

You want to regurgitate all these fucked up feelings onto the floor so that they would leave your body. 

You want to push Titus away and also pull him close and sink in his embrace. You want to let yourself be weak but you can't. You won't. 

All these emotions battle inside of you and make you feel insane.

You've lost sight of your harbor. 

You pull away from him and he watches you carefully. "I'm fine, sorry." You lie and he's naive enough to trust you. He nods. "I could really use a drink, or ten." 

"You know I would never say no to a cold one with the boys but that sounds like a really terrible idea right now."

But he lets you contaminate your lungs with basically an entire pack of cigarettes. Guess its the lesser of two evils in this situation. He just doesn't want you hurting yourself while you're drunk, which is good because you do feel like peeling off your own skin at the moment. 

"We could just have some fresh juice," as fresh as things are in Martinaise anyway. "Good for the body," he pokes your stomach. "Less chance of getting a beer belly."

You chuckle because his finger pressing on your stomach tickles you but you quickly slap his hand away. "Knock it off." 

He grins. "You haven't really exercised in two weeks."

"Yeah well, I bet I could still take you on, workout or not!"

He snorts. "Sure, buddy."

"Are you sayin' I can't?"

"No, no," he's being sarcastic. "Just you can barely beat me with two hands and a workout. Now you got one good arm, and the only workout it gets is beating your meat." He closes his hand into a fist and gestures up and down like stroking an invisible dick. He can't keep himself from laughing and if this joke wasn't on your expense, you'd find it funny too. 

"Fuck you, you dickwad."

"Hey, when I'm right, I'm right. And I'm always right."

He is. Even when he's wrong, he's right. 

"You still comin' to the match?"

You nod again. "Fuck yeah, man. I'll be there even if I break my own two legs."

"Please don't break your legs."

"I mean," you shrug. "I'll try. Can't make any promises though."

You both laugh. 

You go and grab that fresh juice, then take a long walk around Martinaise. The sights do little to lift your spirit, but it's home and it always will be.

* * *

  
The lights are a burning sun in the enclosed arena. You're surrounded by grown men left and right, shoving, pushing, pressing against you. You can smell the sweat and alcohol on them. It makes you uncomfortable. You think most these men are in their forties with nothing better to do than spend their cash betting on who wins what fight, and according to the announcer, Titus has a pretty good record. (couple for some matches, especially when he was still an amateur)

You and Titus practice long and hard, you get in physical confrontations almost weekly if not daily. You throw the first punch most of the time, except the few times you've earned a shiner from him for being a dumbass (which most of the time, you are.) 

Titus has quite the punch. It's like being kicked by a horse, and yet it doesn't feel like your fights with the entity at home. Somehow there's an amount of calculated care in every punch Titus throws. He wants you to know his intentions are to knock some sense into you, not hurt you. 

Or maybe you just think of it that way.

You cheer with the crowd as the fight begins, both Titus and his opponent circle around each other, a few punches are thrown, and then it's a shower of jabs. 

Titus's opponent is one of the largest men you've ever seen. Milky skin, decorated with trophy scars, sunken eyes, broad shoulders, and muscled all over, unlike Titus who is lean at the hips and down. It has always given Titus an advantage over you and that's speed, and that also works on the rugby field. You're tall, but this guy is all big and mean. You wonder what would happen if you were in Titus's position right now, going in, fists swinging. 

As Titus dodges, you think that a single punch from this man might just knock anyone out. His fists are gigantic. Titus retaliates and aims for the jaw with an uppercut. All it takes is one hit for someone to gain the upper hand but none connect. It’s another feverish dance. The crowd yells for them to beat the hell out of another, You grip on to the railing separating the crowd from the ring. Your knuckles are white in anticipation. Left hook, Titus moves out of the way and blocks the right hook with his arms. Another punch, then another, he’s trying to wear Titus’s defenses. You can almost feel your friend’s bones whimper with every punch, but Titus does not back down. He tries to put some distance between him and his opponent, until he was backed into a corner, where he took a swift step to the side, letting his enemy waste valuable time, punching the ghost of his shape, and allowing Titus to land his first successful hit to the side of the big monster’s face. 

After that, he was golden. One punch followed the other, now he just had to keep at it. 

A few successful jabs later, the referee breaks them up, allowing them to re-center in the middle of the ring. You don’t think Titus can hear you amidst the ocean of sounds all around the ring, but you shout encouragements regardless. 

Another round starts, both prizefighters try to land that K.O. swing, Titus ducks and moves backward, not allowing his enemy to grab him. He takes the opening and strikes again. A punch, a second, the larger man grabs him but doesn’t push. The lock keeps Titus from throwing any more punches. The referee breaks them up once again. 

The next time around the giant focuses on relentless powerful punches, pushing Titus back and making him resort to shielding his face with his arms. Titus takes advantage of his opponent’s fury and size. He dodges the few first punches with a Bob and Weave and then leads his opponent into the illusion of exhaustion. 

He saw the next punch coming, it had so much force that it was possible to hear the wind move around it. Titus waits for the right moment, then ducks, letting the weight of the punch bring its puncher down to the ground. The referee puts some distance between him and his attacker, Titus moves to the corner of the ring and lets the referee count. 

You’ve been in the boxer’s position before. Titus is good at managing people’s anger against them and letting them knock themselves out. One time, you ended up punching your own lights out when you tried to take a swing at him. You chuckle to yourself at the memory. 

The two prizefighters meet again at the center of the ring and the fight drags on. The big monster seems to have learned his lesson. He takes things slower and manages to land a hit. Titus stumbles back but doesn’t fall. A clinch causes the referee to break them up. You don’t think you would be good at boxing, not because you can’t fight, of course not. You’re a well-oiled fighting machine. But it’s simply because boxing does not allow you to hammer down on your opponent until they bleed out on the floor. As soon as you get tangled up with your opponent, that’s it. The referee has to separate you. You’re not sure if a referee is going to be able to keep you from attacking your prey. Once you’ve taken that sweet first bite, nothing will stop you. 

That’s why you admire Titus’s composure. He’s good at keeping himself under control. 

As the fight goes on, both men become visibly tired. There’s an actively bleeding cut on Titus’s cheek and his nose, and bruises that hasn't yet bloomed. It takes what feels like ages, but Titus is finally able to knock his opponent down. His steps are heavy as he walks to the corner of the ring. He takes the moment to fill his lungs with air and breathe. The referee counts. The match ends. 

“WOO-FUCKIN-WOO, HARDIE!” You yell at the top of your lungs. Titus looks in your direction, his eye now taking a darker color from the bruises. 

When Titus leaves the ring, he heads towards you. The crowd is eager to touch him and pat him, and spit compliments at him. Even when he looks like hell, he still had a charming confident smile. “Come on. Let’s grab the prize money and celebrate, we got lots of drinking to do, bud.”

You hop over the railing and follow him to the back rooms. 

"That was so badass, dude!" You gush. "The way you tricked the big buffoon to floor himself? Oh, man!"

Titus chuckles at your childlike excitement. "The bigger they are the Hardier they fall."

You find his pun hilarious. 

When you reach the backroom, Titus goes to his locker to pick up his clothes and his duffle bag. There are a few other fighters there, all sorts of different body types; Slim fighters, oftentimes small in size. They're agile, quick on their feet. There are medium built fighters, you would say Titus fits into this category; Masculine men but not completely. They're balanced, quick, and pack quite the punch. Then there's the overbearingly masculine type, big all over. They could probably squish your head like a grape.

One of the fighters approaches you and Titus and then leans against the locker next to you. "You got lucky today, Hardie."

Titus only hums in reply, his locker is more important to him than whoever this guy is. 

"You wouldn't catch me falling for your tricks that easy."

Another "Mh-hm"

The fighter doesn't seem to care about the lack of response from Titus. 

"Of course, you're too much of a chicken to fight me."

A switch in your head is flipped. You stand between Titus and the guy. Your friend may not five a fuck what this bitch has to say but you do. "Listen you cock-sucker. Titus Hardie doesn't get lucky. It's pure fuckin' skills," you stab his broad hairy chest with your finger. "You get on his level then you talk to him. Or better yet, how about you fight me?"

Titus finally backs away from his locker and its to put a hand on your shoulder, he pulls you back a few steps and then gives your shoulder a few pats. "Woah, woah, woah there, Glenny. It's alright."

The fighter snickers. "Who's that? Your little bitch?"

Titus knows you'll react so he holds you back. You look at him, eyes pleading for him to let you jump this guy and tear him apart. 

"This is my friend, Glen. Friends, you ever heard of those? Think you should get some." 

"I don't need bitches. I got myself and I'm doing damn well on my own."

"Yeah," Titus closes his locker. "Well good luck with that. My friend and I got some celebrating to do." He walks past the fighter and drags you with him. That doesn't stop you from looking back at him and giving him the stink eye like the 4-year old that you are. 

"Who was that?"

Titus shrugs. "Some asshole."

"You should have let me at 'em, T."

"Hey, you keep your fists tucked for somethin' good, alright?"

"Come on, they've been itchin' for some action."

He gives you a side look, a dirty smile tugs at his lips. You punch him on the arm. 

"Not that kind of itch, you bastard!"

He runs his arm over where your fist kissed his skin and laughs to himself. 

On your way out, Titus picks up his prize money and nods. "Should help with the old man's bills." 

His father, he means. Lately he hasn't been doing too well. Titus fears the worst but he's being tough about it.

He pockets some of the money and keeps the other sum. "And this is for us. Time for us to get blackout drunk."

He's hoping you won't cause any problems. You can't make any promises. You're a beast, but you're a whole different kind of beast when you're hammered. 

You remember what happened last time you got really wasted. The thought fills you with anxiety. Best keep your drinking to a minimum, at least, to the point where you can still register your thoughts. 

Your dick thinks you're a wuss. That being drunk shows the real you that you don't want to face. You think you drown it, but you don't. Just like the scars on your body, it's always there, a part of you, stitched to your skin, deep in your bones, coursing through your blood, one with your soul. You can't get rid of it. You can ignore it. But it won't change the facts. 

You remember these thoughts with every drink, each time you feel yourself sailing towards your friend, to rest your heavy head on his shoulder. You stop yourself. But he wraps an arm around you as he downs his third can. His cheeks are rosy red. He looks so happy and comfortable like he wouldn't mind having you here for the rest of his life. 

You try to focus on what he's saying. The words are meaningless, each letter dripping with alcohol, slowed down only by the bruise on his lips. He still looks like hell. Dark red on his cheek and forehead from dried blood, purple and blue on his skin like jewelry. It's beautiful, you think. In some sick and twisted dark way, it's beautiful. 

...

He's beautiful. 

...

The most beautiful man you've ever laid eyes on. 

...

You shake your head and blame the alcohol.

That's enough for tonight. 


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The sky is heavy with burden and grief in the heart of Martinaise. She holds her chest in pain as you stand next to your friend. It's been silent for far too long. You have no words to console him. Is this where you're supposed to tell him his father was a good man? And say some bs about how he's in a better place now?

You don't believe it. You doubt it's what Titus wants to hear.

Moving seems risky like you would fuck up the balance of the silence. But your leg hurts and you need to move the weight of your body, so you switch the pressure from one leg to the other.

As you look at Titus, you see only the shadows of from his cap, a camo hunting hat that belonged to his father abstracting his expression and the features of his face.

The rain pitter-patters against the upper peak of his hat. It sounds louder than usual.

You've been standing here for so long that the mud feels like quicksand and you're slowly sinking. Your brain yells at you to say something or you'll go insane from the silence. But this isn't about you. All you can offer Titus is a gentle squeeze of the shoulder.

You hear him sniff. It scares you.

But then finally he lifts his head. He doesn't say anything, you don't say anything.

He clears his throat but there's no denying the pain in his voice when he finally breaks the silence. "I'm fine. Thanks for comin' with me, Glenny."

"Of course, man. Any time."

He nods. His face is almost expressionless, you don't like that.

"Let's get out of here. We got lots of cleanin' to do."

Putting his father's things away. It can't be easy for him. You think he shouldn't do it sober, but doing it drunk seems like a bad idea as well.

You finally move after a long period of being still. Your legs feel like static but you march on.

It's awkward when you get to the Hardie residence. You can hear Titus's mother crying from her room. Titus said she hasn't come out since after the funeral. Tiberius, Titus's younger brother, has been looking after her when Titus wasn't around. The sound of her crying has been there for so long while you put away old rubbish that when she was quiet it almost felt horrifying.

Every now and then Titus would leave to knock on her door and ask her if she needs something or whether she would like to eat. It was like talking to a ghost.

People die, people get crushed by old cargo containers, but this grief is something you would never want to experience. Frankly, if your old man were to get crushed by a cargo container, you would celebrate.

You open a cabinet to find Atticus Hardie's hunting gear. A pair of binoculars, his hunting rifle, and all the attachments of the gun. There's also a big hunting knife and his hunting clothes.

"I'll be keepin' those, Titus says as he re-enters the room. "We can go huntin' sometimes."

You nod. "How's she?"

Titus shrugs. "Left some food and water for her in front of the door."

"Shit, man. She's gonna starve herself to death."

"Yeah, well, when that happens I'm sure she'll open the door."

"And Tibbs?"

"He's hangin' on. It's might take some time to get used to it just bein' me and him."

"And me!"

He chuckles for the first time in what feels like forever. "And you too, buddy."

"Uh-huh!" You salute him. "I ain't never gonna leave your side, captain!"

He salutes back. "Much appreciated, partner."

Things ease off from there. You look through some old photos that were in the hunting cabinet. You thought the memories would bring the pain back but Titus has a fond smile on his face. The picture was of the first time he went hunting with his dad. The gun was as long as him but he was carrying with what seemed like relative ease. There were fold marks on it, perhaps it was carried by his old man in his pocket and it fell out.

"Look at your face." You laugh.

"Hey, at least my hair was under control, unlike you."

"My hair was great."

"Uh-huh." He folds the photo and puts it in his back pocket.

There was another photo, this time with Titus and Tibbs. Tibbs definitely did not look into it.

Then a family photo. You don't think you'll see Titus's mother that happy ever again. It made the photo seem... unreal. Like this was from a different universe and place.

There were a couple of other photos with you in it. You didn't seem to fit at all in the middle of dark-haired, hazel-eyed Hardies. Your blonde hair and blue eyes made you look like a bastard son they found outside their doorstep.

You like to think you had a good relationship with Atticus Hardie. You know, aside from having a one-sided weird attraction towards his son.

Which is totally what you just call admiration and friendship, because who doesn't have morning wood after a wet dream about their friend, right?

Totally normal.

But that's not the right stop for this train of thought.

"Didn't expect your dad to keep those photos." The photos of you and the family, that is. It's a statement that masks a question. ' _What did your old man think of me_?'

"I'm pretty sure we have more photos of you around the house than we do Tiberius," He jokes. "You're basically a Hardie." He means it in a very brotherly kind of way, sadly. Not the way you want to share his last name. "Glen Hardie. Has a nice ring to it."

If you had a ring on you this would be a good time to propose and go, "funny you should say that." But you're only seventeen and also you're too poor to afford a ring. There's the fact that Titus is not queer too but we don't like to think about that one.

You're thinking ' _Well I'm not queer either.'_

No, you just thought of marrying another dude in a totally heterosexual way.

Now you're thinking ' _who the fuck are you, exactly?_ '

Well, I'm the narrator, of course. I know your deepest darkest desires. I know how this story began and how it ends. But I can't just say how it ends because then what's the point of this story, am I right? Those are called spoilers, and no one likes those.

Glen Dixon-Hardie... Try saying that real fast. Hehe.

"Hey, Glenny. Mind grabbing us a couple of beers from the kitchen? Looks like we're gonna be here for a while."

You shake your head in an attempt to return to the reality where you are in control of your own life and there's no omnipresent narrator, narrating your thoughts, then hop to your feet. "Yeah sure. I'll be right back."

You know this place like the back of your hand so it's no adventure for you to find the kitchen. You grab a couple of beers and head back to your friend.

You spend the rest of the night going through photos.

"My old man really liked you, you know?" Finally, an answer to a question you asked hours ago. "You were his type of troublemaker," he changes his voice to imitate his old man, "Oh that Dixon kid, he's gonna get you in some deep shit, Titus. But it's gonna be fun. You make sure he doesn't trip on his own two feet. The little bastard."

"He said that?"

"Somethin' like that. He did really think you were a great guy. I trust my old man's judgment. Glad, I did."

You hear a door unlock and for a moment you're silent. Then the door closes again. You and Titus sneak into the hallway, and you see Tiberius peeking his out of his room. The water glass and plate of food have vanished. You all exchange a thumbs up before you return to your duties.

It continues to be blissfully quiet for a while longer until Titus breaks it with his laughter. "I keep thinkin' how much this would fuckin' suck if I was stuck doin' this on my own."

You're taken aback for a moment but then you smile. "Well, I'm glad you're not on your own. And I'm not goin' nowhere."

"I'm glad too." He really means it. It'll be very tough for him now, being the man of the house, looking after his brother and his mom. But at least he has you. There's a lot for him to think about but he's trying not to let himself sink. He needs to be strong. He needs you.

You're not sure how to feel about that. Of course, you'll be there for him and do your best. You would never let Titus down. You would be the rock he needs. But sometimes it feels like you need him more than he needs you...

"I need that boxin' money now more than ever." He's glad he hasn't spent all his money on beer and chicks though that was very tempting. At least now he has some money to help keep a roof over their heads.

"Any way I can help, man. Just say it." Financially, not so much. You two are on the same boat, the same rocky boat.... in the middle of a waging storm.

"I know, Glenny." He trusts you more than he trusts his own brother.

Now would be a good time to hug him but you're not that type of person, because even though you have hugged dozens of times before and you love it more than you would like to admit, you think it's kind of unmanly. You wouldn't be caught hugging another dude first. The thing with your hugs is, Titus is always the one who holds you first. It's kind of an idiotic logic but I'm not here to judge I'm here to tell a story.

"Do you have any photos of your mom?"

That question slaps you like a fish in the face. You were not expecting it at all but you can see why Titus would ask that.

"No."

"You remember what she looks like?"

You shrug. "Not really," you know where he's going with this so you answer the next question before it even leaves his lips. "Makes it easier for me to just forget her. I don't miss her much. I don't think there's much for me to miss. I guess I look like her though," you make yourself busy with sorting some photos, it helps you sound casual, "dad always says I do." Usually, that would be a good thing, kids would say this with fondness, but not you. The fact that your face reminds him of the one who 'rebelled' against him was the reason behind many unnecessary beatings.

"Well you didn't get that pretty face from him, that's for sure."

A crack in your heart heals.

You both laugh.

"I'm sure she was a fine woman." He goes on. You nod, not knowing what else to say.

A while after much exhausting work, and a few bottles of beer, Titus decides to spruce things up and brings in a radio. Something to fill the silence in between your chats.

You sing along or listen to Titus humming, depending on whether you know the song or not.

At some point, you forget about your work so you can play some air guitars and pretend to be in some rock band.

You have the hair for it, Titus tells you. Very good for headbanging.

"You just need to learn how to play an actual guitar."

"Athlete and musician. That's how you get every chick in Martinaise linin' up to suck your dick."

He chuckles. "With that much charm, you could get any guy to suck your dick, not just chicks."

Uh-oh

You jump up and blink at him. "Why the fuck would I want that? I'm no f*ggot"

He doesn't seem pleased with your use of that word.

You're getting defensive.

"I was just kiddin'. Don't pop a vein."

You calm down.

Do you feel like you just saved your masculinity? Or made a fool out of yourself? I can tell you what Titus thinks but I think it's very clear from the look on his face.

Regardless, he switches the channel and puts on a sports broadcast.

Work becomes a little bit awkward after that.

* * *

The arcade is busy as always. It has become a gathering ground for gangs and edgy teens with drug problems but you still enjoy visiting it. You're supposed to be here for Tiberius, help him get his mind off things, have a fun night. Titus and Tiberius play on an arcade machine, some shooting game, while you try to beat the royalist pinball machine for the 700th time. It has become extremely competitive to you. You don't like seeing your name second or, god forbid, third.

"You're pretty good at this," Tibbs says out of nowhere, almost making you lose your concentration. You can only offer him a hum as a response. You watch the ball bounce around and hit all the obstacles, bringing your score up higher and higher.

He can see you're concentrating so he doesn't say anything else but stands next to you and observes the master doing his thing. Titus joins soon after.

"This machine again? Come on, Glenny."

"I've only beaten it ten times!"

"Yeah and some other no life loser is gonna come along and beat you, and then you're gonna wanna beat them."

"And I will!"

He sighs, a laugh is mixed in there. "Alright, Tibbs. Glen is gonna be here for the entire night so what do you want for dinner?"

Their discussion is quickly becoming background noise to you, the pleasant sounds of the pinball is all you're focused on.

Your legs are getting pretty tired of just standing there, they're itching for some movement but you ignore their demands.

"Tibbs and I are gonna get some food and drop it off at home so mom has something to eat. You better be done when I come back."

"Yeah, yeah."

You're left to your game, where you remain unbothered... and you lose track of time.

Perhaps it's been an hour, or maybe two. Maybe more. You're not sure. What you do know is you secured that sweet number one position and you'll keep going until it becomes impossible to beat.

And just then, you feel something grab you. Big fingers around your waist, closing in, wrapping around your abdomen. Your body screams at the sudden contact and you elbow whoever it is behind you.

Titus stumbles back, hand covering his nose. "Ah fuck," he keeps his head up to help with the bleeding. "Sometimes you're a massive cunt, you know that?"

"Fuckin' Christ, man," you look for tissues to wipe the blood but when you have none on you, you just end up using your sleeve. In the background, you can hear that God awful game over music. "Why the fuck did you sneak up on me?"

"Thought I would scare you"

"Yeah well, that never worked out for you, like, ever."

"Nope. Never did." He laughs, you can't help but laugh as well.

People around you are watching. You don't really like that so you yell at no one in particular. "The fuck you lookin' at, huh?"

"Jeez. No need to be a dick to the people." He finally lowers his head. "Think I need to put some ice on that. Fuck, man. You're gonna bust my nose real bad one day."

"Well stop tryin'a sneak up on me."

"Good advice," he pauses. "You up for a late night swim? The cold water should help with this."

It's night already?

"Yeah. Sure."

You grab your bag and head off.

The water is colder than Satan's anus at this time of night but you adapt fairly quickly. Titus sinks down and stays under for a while, letting the water numb the stinging in his nose. You swim around him as if to protect him from the unknown.

When he comes up again, he shakes the water off his hair and splashes it all over the place, including on you. Unbothered by the unpleasant look on your face, he starts swimming away, arms stretched, legs paddling, propelling him forward.

You follow.

You know this lake like the back of your hand now. When you swim, you know your way around the water. You know the spots where it's too deep for you to swim and where it's safe.

Titus picks up the pace, a silent challenge for a race. You smirk and swim faster. The water splashes behind you. You're not sure where the finish line is but you're determined to pass Titus regardless.

You swim past him

He swims past you

Then in a sudden, he floats on his back and swims backwards. You dive down and swim under then pull him down with you.

Your laughter is nothing but lost air in the form of bubbles, popping at the surface.

When you get tired, you swim back to shore.

You go to the shack and dry your clothes outside. "How did it go? Earlier, with your mom I mean."

"She left her room, said she's sorry and how she was supposed to be strong for us. Bein' the strong one is my job." He points at himself.

"Well, you are pretty strong."

"Damn right I am. I told her she don't got to worry. I'll take care of us. Been thinkin' of dropping out of uni, getting a job, you know, an actual job. Not prizefightin'."

"But it's your last year."

"It's shit but what can you do? I ain't learnin' nothin' anyway."

"That's true. I never been to school and I'm fine."

"Says the person who can't count past 69."

"Why the fuck would you need to count any higher anyway?"

You exchange laughter. This melancholy is almost peaceful. Titus needs it. He would never admit it to you, but he's scared of the future. Scared for his mother and Tibbs. Scared of the responsibility now on his shoulders.

"I should join the rowin' club. He would have wanted me to."

The Hardies all love the water like it's a part of them. (Technically speaking, water is a part of everyone).

"Do you want to?"

"Of course. I love rowin'. It's a good exercise. You get to be out in the open water. What's not to love?"

You nod.

"Maybe one day I'll be able to get a better boat."

It's silent for a while. You watch the night outside, the moon covered by the clouds, the stars sparkling in the dark night sky. With every breath Martinaise takes, she shakes the leaves and brings the waves to shore.

"Funny thing, life is," Titus says suddenly. "Just when you think you got it pinned against the wall, it kicks you in the nuts."

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Don't you ever just feel like screamin' at it? Or maybe punchin' it square in the face?"

Well if life was a person you would have cannibalized them by now so you could shit them out later. Life is shit. Literally.

Just say yes.

"Think I would have done more than just punch it but yeah."

Close enough.

It gets a chuckle out of Titus. "Yeah, you would, I suppose. Considerin' what its done to you," he looks at you fondly. You only see a warm smile. "If it's worth anythin', I think you came out mighty fine, Glen Dixon. Some loose screws but that's alright."

You didn't come out just fine. You made it this far because of him. He keeps you out of trouble.

But your muscles do keep you alive in situations like dealing with the monster at home, so his statement is half correct.

"I guess I should head home now. Can't be stayin' out all night no more."

You nod.

"You're welcomed to stay with us."

It's an invitation, you're not sure if it's because he's worried about you going home or if he needs the company. Perhaps it's a little bit of both. You agree, for the little chance of it being the latter.

You stay for the night, and the night after, and the night after. You almost forget what your own room looks like. Despite the circumstances, this is the happiest you've been in a while. You haven't seen your face without any bandaids in a long long time but now it's healed. There are no bruises on your body except for those you got from your typical playful fights with Titus. They don't hurt the same way.

You lean closer to the mirror. You almost look alien to yourself.

"Yeah, I stare at myself in the mirror for long hours every day too." Titus jokes as he enters the room, his hands full of freshly washed and dried clothes. "Admiring ourselves, are we?"

"What's not to admire?" You show him a smile full of your sharp teeth. He chuckles.

"Don't suck your own dick. Come on. We should get to practice soon."

He sets the clothes down and grabs a brush then sits on the bed with his legs parted and pats his knee. You know what he's saying but you're not sure how to react.

Come on, nothing gay about your homie wanting to brush your hair. He's probably just curious about what it feels like.

You hesitate but you sit down in the space between his legs and let him run the brush through your long golden hair.

He doesn't say anything and you're too embarrassed to speak, but here's what he's thinking, this one is on the house.

He's thinking that your hair is softer than it looks, and it looks pretty soft, to begin with. Let's be honest you look like a homeless man that hasn't showered in months so this is a great compliment.

You feel his fingers in your hair after every brushstroke and you close your eyes. It's soothing. He's gentle, like a mother with her child, even when he tries to comb through the knots in your hair.

After he's done, he lets your hair fall like silky curtains around your shoulder, slipping from in between his fingers, before he wraps it up in a bun and ties it.

A few strands fall in front of your face and you move them behind your ear. "There. Now you look ready."

You think it's a little awkward to thank him for brushing your hair so you just nod.

You wear something a little more sporty, and that's a spare pair of Titus's uni sports shorts and a plain orange tee-shirt (to avoid confusion since Titus's shirt has Fly-half and #10 written on it) and then you head to practice. You've been going to practice more frequently lately, finding some time off work to do so. You still want a superstar career after all. Can't be stuck moving packages from warehouse to warehouse your whole life.

The cold breeze is welcoming and refreshing against your skin. You stretch your muscles while you wait for the rest of the team to gather.

"Watch yourself out there, Goldie locks." One of the boys laughs, you only huff.

Remember, you're a hunter, they're prey. You're a Norse god, they're merely mortals.

Titus joins your side, jogging in place for a while. "Ready to kick some ass?"

You smirk. "Aren't I always?"

"Go easy on 'em, tiger."

You're more of a lion but a tiger is still a very well respected hunter. Though when it comes to crushing people on the field, you're the king of the jungle!

The coach walks down the center of the field, both sides jog up to greet him.

"Play fair, boys." He scans both sides, nodding at you. He's pleased to see you here again.

Both teams take their positions. You're in the first row to the right, the tighthead prop, next to you is the #2 hooker, and next to him is the #1 loosehead prop.

The coach always thought you're a better tighthead than a loosehead thanks to the bulk of your muscles and your untamed anger that makes it easy for you to dominate in a scrum.

The whistle is blown. The hooker throws the ball back to the number 8. The fight begins.

You stick close to whoever has the ball, defending them as they make their way to the crossbar with the backup of the loosehead prop. It takes a lot for your shoulders to start feeling the pressure, the adrenaline and the rush of being able to slam against a hard firm frame with so much force that it knocks the air out of them was exhilarating. The sadist in you enjoys it. You could almost howl like a god damn animal.

Halfway through the game, your muscles start aching. Old wounds surface but you don't pay them much attention.

The game ends with a tie. Both teams are disappointed but the coach seems pleased. A tie means you have lots to learn but you're equally matched. That's better than losing.

You shake hands with the other team and then melt into one team again. You remember these guys are friends.

Titus joins your side as the coach gives a speech about how sports isn't about winning or losing but they better god damn win or face the consequence of never being able to look their coach in the eyes ever again.

You're not even officially part of the team and you feel embarrassed at the thought of letting this man down.

He snaps his fingers then points at you. Uh-oh. "Come here, sonny."

You walk up to him. He puts an arm on your shoulder, you have to look down to look him in the eyes. The coach is average height but it's you who's growing to be a giant.

"You played well today, kid." He doesn't make it sound fancy, it's almost like he expected much from you.

"Thanks."

"But," oh no. "You got a temper on you. A real nasty one. I don't mind you getting aggressive on the other team, I don't care if you break their god damn bones. But this here is my team, and you have to remember, they might be on the other side on the field, but I still need them after practice."

You nod.

"That said, you're still one hell of a fighter. You out beat our own tighthead. Of course, I can't give you that position officially, since you need to go to this university to be a part of it but I put in word on the outside and we got some folks interested. They'll drop by any time to watch you play. Any time, son. That means you gotta be your best every game, am I clear?"

You nod again with so much enthusiasm that it threatens to undo your hair. "Yes, sir!" A pause, you look back at the team then at the coach again. "What about Titus?"

He admires you thinking about your mate. "They'll be watching all of you. But he knows that. Actually," the coach calls Titus over. "I think your friend has got something for you."

"A little present from the team," Titus adds. "Totally my idea," a pause and then he adds. "Okay, and the coach's too."

He rushes off to get a duffle bag from under one of the benches and then beings it back to you.

You look down at it. Oh, the secrets it holds.

You unzip it, and inside is a pair of shorts and a shirt with your name on it and a big #3

"Try 'em on"

You're a little too eager to. Your first official team outfit!

It fits nicely. Ah, the smell of new clothes.

"Welcome aboard, son."

If you weren't too much of a manly man, you would be crying tears of joy right now. But all you can do is thank them. You know this doesn't mean you can play with them in their official matches but damn it, it makes you feel like one of them!

You won't forget this.

"You're still Goldie locks." One of the team members says.

"And Blondie." Another one chimes in. They laugh in unison but it doesn't feel like they're laughing at you.

It's not the worst nickname they've given you. There were times where they used your last name as a joke. 'As long as you don't put your Dick-s-in any of us' kind of jokes. Fucking cringe, man.

Anyway, they're good looking but you wouldn't put your dick in any of them... unless... Just kidding. Unless---

Okay now is not the time. You should be celebrating!

You and Titus get a six-pack of beer and heading to your private little getaway place in the lake.

He puts his bottle up. "A toast to you, you fucked up son of a bitch." His bottle kisses yours and then you down half of it. Titus does the same but the other half of his bottle is poured over your head. You lift your head and stick your tongue out to catch some of it before shaking your head, letting the beer fly from your hair all over the place.

You exchange laughter and then Titus tackles you down playfully. You roll on the ground, bits of mud sticking to your hair, skin, and clothes.

You play-wrestle on the floor until you pin Titus down. Your hands on his wrists, keeping them next to each side of his head.

You're both almost breathless, and cold tears of joy cloud your vision. Your chest almost hurts from laughing too much, it's hard to keep yourself up so you slump down on top of him and release his hands. He wraps them around you and you feel his chest vibrate with every cackle.

"Oh man," he says, it sounds completely out of air. "If only every day could be as good as this." There's a continuation to this and it goes, 'but then we wouldn't know just how good moments like these actually feel like.' But he doesn't say it. Instead, he just lets you rest on him. Your slightly bigger body almost engulfing him, and your feet stick in the muddy ground.

You both need a shower, for the second time today. The whites in your clothes will never be the same again.

It's easy for you to find home in his arms, and your heart synchronizes with his. You want to close your eyes and sleep. You could have this, have him if you'd only let yourself.

But the muscles on your body won't let you, and the ghost of all that is manly does not let you go.

You will not let yourself stoop so low, because murder is fine, and violence is masculine, but love is a fragile feminine thing. It's not made for you. Your heart aches, but you'll never understand why because you refuse to speak to it.

You look up at him, he's staring up at the sky. His hand mindlessly runs through your hair, like it knows every strand.

Sometimes you feel like you want to weep at the thought of how beautiful he is. There's no heterosexual way around it, even if you don't want to acknowledge it. You're tragically, deeply, and desperately in love with him. Your lips long to taste his. Your fingertips are eager to explore the map of him. You crave it. But you'll keep denying yourself for the sake of whatever remains of your dignity.

He looks down and his eyes meet yours, his lips part, and he smiles at you. It hurts. But you bear it. Things are going so fucking great for you now. Don't fuck it up.

Bear with it.

It's just a phase, right? A dumb, messed up, stupid fucking phase.

Bear with it...

You'll grow out of it...

Just bear with it.


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW warning: sex

**Chapter 11**

(1 year later)

"You're finally there, man." Titus Hardie says as he slaps you on the back, you try not to drop the closed wooden boxes that you're carrying. "Eighteen whole years."

You drop the boxes off at the truck and then wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your gloved hand. "Yeah." Who would have thought, really? That you'd live this long. 

"Well, finish up your work here and then we can spend the day celebrating. I got some plans."

You chuckle. "Okay, who is it this time? Lucy from the diner? Mary from your class? Or Betty from that one place we went to that one time?" 

He laughs as well. "I didn't get you a chick, you asshole," a pause, then he leans closer to you. "But which one would you be interested in?"

"Fuck you, man." 

"Good choice."

Titus hops up on the back of the truck and watches you as you load more boxes into it. He makes the job easier by distracting you from the weight of each box with small talk and offers a hand when the thing needs more than just one person. 

"...And I've been keepin' in touch with the boys and coach of course." 

He took a break from college, just so he could focus more on looking after his mom and brother. The past year had its ups and downs but nothing kept Titus Hardie from getting right back up. 

He got a job, night shifts as a guard. Plus the cash he gets from his prizefighting. He's been taking as many chances as he could get lately. It was odd for you to see his face obscured by this many bandaids. But at least you can relate. 

You two have been making a stable life for yourselves as best as you could, while still having time to hang out and get wasted or stare out into the sea with a cigarette in hand. 

"What did he say?"

"The new Fly-half is a dunce. They could use me back. Also the prop tackles like a girl."

"Fuckin' Shame, ain't it?"

You both chuckle. 

Your rugby careers are put on hold but you still attend a few practices here and there. Even if you're not playing with a team, sometimes you and Titus are all you need. 

You stick to your workout routines. They keep you in shape and help you avoid getting a beer belly. It reminds you of the beast at home. The thought makes you shiver. 

"So when you get off work, first thing we're doin' is headin' home. I gotta grab some shit." 

You nod. 

"What drugs are you gonna hit now that you're all man?"

You smirk as you clap your hands together to rid them of dust. "All of 'em. Fuckin' line 'em up. I'll snort it, I'll roll it, I'll swallow it with some beer."

He laughs and slaps you on the back again. "Don't do that, please. I was just fuckin' with you. No drugs," he pauses. "Not that many anyway."

You sign off work and you head to Titus's place. 

It's still odd walking into silence. Usually, the radio would be turned on to whatever Atticus Hardie is tuning into. He would greet you with his gruff chain-smoker voice, and make fun of you in the most dad way possible. You and Atticus Hardie got into fights. He liked to test you, see if you're a good friend to his son. You think you'll miss those dumb things now that he's gone. 

Memento Mori. 

Never take anything for granted. 

"Hey, Glenny." Mrs. Hardie pulls you into a hug. The motherly hug you long to have in your life. You hug her back. 

When you pull back, she takes a look at you and smiles. 

"I remember when you came to visit for the first time. A little boy with oversized clothes, messy hair, and a missing tooth. Look at you now." Her hand is in your hair, moving it back behind your ears. 

You don't think you look any better now than you did back then. You were poverty-stricken and abused then and you're still poverty-stricken and abused now. But you smile regardless. 

Tibbs welcomes you. Despite being very close in age, you tower over him. Your gigantic hand engulfs his as you shake his hand. 

"Birthday boy."

They all remember. It's a nice feeling. 

"Don't get my brother into too much trouble today."

You feel a hand on your shoulder, it's firm and very authoritarian. "Don't worry, I'll be the one keepin' him out of trouble," the older Hardie leans over your shoulder to whisper to his brother. "Take care of ma, would you?"

Tiberius nods. "Have fun."

You leave the house. Titus is holding a box under his arm in one hand and his bag, thrown over his shoulder in the other. You're curious but you don't ask him what's in the box. 

When you get to the lake, you have some cake made by Mrs. Hardie. It's sweet and creamy, stuffed with jam, and topped with some fruit. You drink cold beer to balance the taste. One bottle turns into two, and two becomes three, and three becomes six. You chat and you laugh, and you skip stones over the surface of the lake until day becomes night. 

"Here," Titus says, moving the box towards you. "It's nothin' special but it's made with love."

You blink at him and shake your head to get rid of the tipsy feeling that's slowly consuming you. Your cheeks are a flaming red from the alcohol and you can barely focus. You fumble with the top of the box but eventually, you manage to open it.

Inside the box is a jacket, dark red and orange. It looks identical to the one he's wearing right now although his jacket is orange and green. On the back of his jacket is the number 10, the number of a fly-half. On the back of yours is the number 3, the number of a tighthead prop. Under the numbers is one word "Hardie"

"Hardie..." It leaves your lips as a hushed whisper. 

"Yep," he nods. "You are and always will be a Hardie boy."

"Hardie boy?" You chuckle. 

He nods again. 

It sounds dumb but you like it. 

"Come on. Put it on. I wanna see it on you." 

The fabric is heavy, perfect to keep you protected from the cold. You slip it on and it fits like a glove. Titus stands and pulls you up with him, he twirls you like a dancer and you almost fall but he keeps you balanced. 

"Lookin' good."

He gives you a moment to look at yourself. You fix the jacket... It's perfect. 

"Thank you. It's great." 

He grins. "Glad you like it."

As the night smothers the last bit of heat from the world around you, you retreat to the shack to continue your celebration. You drunk dance to music you don't know and share a couple of smokes. You drink from his bottle and he drinks from yours. You talk and play games until the dead of night. 

When you're tired, you take a rest. 

Your cheeks are burning red from the liquor, but your vision is focused on Titus. He's breathing heavily, trying to recover from all the partying. Honestly, you thought this night would be different. Maybe you would go to a bar and try to pick up some women, head back here, and have a threesome (or a foursome, who fucking cares) that sounds more like a Titus Hardie party.

But you're glad you have this night alone with him. You enjoy his company. 

He's looking back at you under heavy lids. His hazel eyes always speak to you in a language you cannot comprehend, but it's easy for you to just listen to them, and so you stare and find yourself drifting. 

His red lips look so inviting. He smiles, you think he's teasing you, calling for that animal inside of you, the hunter... it craves and wants and hungers to taste the beer on his lips. To feast on him after years of deprivation.

Dear Dolores Dei, he doesn't know how mad he drives you sometimes. You can't help but lick your lips before taking another sip of beer. It feeds the fire. Every move he makes sends your thoughts into a frenzy. 

You want to ravish him. 

Fuck... 

You try to keep your breathing under control but it's hard when the booze and your dick double team against you. 

The beast inside of you is tired of its leash. It's clawing at its broken cage. 

Let it feed. 

Pin him down and have him like you've always wanted. Taste his skin. You can't shake the thoughts off no matter how hard you try. It's too late. They've already taken over you. 

You reach out and place a hand on Titus's leg. There's a sparkle in his eyes and he smirks. This is it, the unspoken invitation. 

He knows just what kind of monster you are. He knows that he's your prey. 

Hunt. 

Your cock stirs in your pants, it's almost unbearable. 

You lean towards him slowly, the fear that he'll push you away is in the back of your mind. But he doesn't. Not even when your breath ghosts over his lips. The chains snap. Your lips close around his. 

The kiss is violent, all tongue and teeth, all hunger and lust. You push him against the wooden wall of the shack and trap him between your arms.

Liquor tastes better inside his mouth, it's the best its ever been, and fuck, when he puts his hand on your face and pulls you closer, you lose it. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You want him out of those clothes, right fucking now. So you carelessly take off his jacket and pull off his tanktop, throwing them who cares where. Your lips latch on to his neck, biting, licking, sucking, tasting his scars, and the salty sweat on his skin. He's trying to keep up with your erratic movement. His hands gripping, stroking your hair and your back, pulling you closer. 

Your fingers are clumsy as they try to undo his pants but he stops you and in a split second, your back is hitting the wall, and he's straddling your hips. 

His eyes trace your outline, down and further down until he catches a glimpse of your cock pressed against your pants. He grins then presses his lips to yours again. His hand comes between you and he takes a hold of you through your clothes, and you can't help but gasp between your lips at the feeling of his firm hands engulfing your cock. 

He moves his hand up and down and it makes your toes curl. You claw at his bare chest and buck into his touch. He only laughs at your eagerness. 

"So when you said 'fuck you' earlier, you really meant it, huh? I was kinda hopin' that was the case."

You ignore his friendly snarky remark and make yourself busy taking off your own clothes. He doesn't stop you, instead, he enjoys the show while still pleasuring your dick. 

"Pants off." There's a low rumble in your voice made of pure lust and desire. You sound so demanding that even Titus is a little taken back by it. 

Your cock weeps in disappointment as he pulls his hand back and sets it next to him, giving you the space to undo his belt and pull his pants down until he has to stand to remove them completely. Then he undoes yours and does the same. 

The sight of Titus Hardie, in all his naked glory before you, with the sweat of love staining his figure, making him glisten, is more than enough to make the animal in you lose its shit. 

"Easy, Glenny." He says, taking a few steps closer to you. He could sense your hunger, but it does not scare him. 

You try to calm yourself but it's so hard when he's right there. You want to dig your claws into him and rip him apart. You want to taste every inch of him. You want---

"Easy..." He says again, with a lot more care. He pecks your lips before wrapping his giant hand around your cocks, pressing them together as he strokes up and down. The pre-cum making it easier for him to move. He kisses your jaw then your neck, moving your hair back with his free hand. His lips are a privilege that your bruised and beaten skin does not deserve. But in your drunken haze, it doesn't matter. Every little kiss on your body is heaven.

He nibbles gently on the junction between your neck and shoulders and slowly moves to the center. He's taking his time, enjoying every bit of you. His lips close around your Adam's Apple and he feels it bob up and down as you swallow. 

You bring your hands up to wrap around him and press him closer to you. It's so hard not to fuck the circle of his hand as he jerks you both off. It feels so good. You don't care that these are rough masculine fingers around you. You only see someone you love, truly, with all that is left of your heart, you love Titus Hardie. 

Not to say I told you so, especially now while you're trying to get it on but your dick and I have been trying to tell you. 

He lifts his head and it was so hard not to go over the edge right then and there when you see him smile at you. You roll your hips until he stops you. "Relax." but it's so hard to when his thumb teases the head of your cock, and he twists his wrist on his way down to the base.

Your body is on fire. The pleasure is quickly becoming too much. You can't contain the little "oh fuck"s that escape you, it just makes him chuckle. 

"We'll get there when we get there. So hang in there, cowboy."

You dig your nails into his shoulder-blades and sink your teeth into his skin to keep yourself from moaning. Your teeth are bound to leave a nasty mark after this. He doesn't seem to mind. 

You can hear him breathing against your ear, ragged, short, and quick breaths. He turns his head and buries his face in the nest of your golden hair, pressing a kiss to your burning red ear before releasing your cocks from his hold. You whine in disappointment at the loss of contact.

Whatever he had in mind to do next, it was thrown out the window when you jump him and knock him down on the wooden floor. A familiar battle for dominance ensues. You pin him down by his neck, fingers wrapped tightly around his throat, squeezing. You can feel his heart beat against the tip of your fingers, you can feel every breath in and out, rapid, full of arousal and excitement. 

He wants to know what you'll do next. 

So he watches you carefully, his hazel eyes in your ocean blues. Burning. 

The hungry monster that you fear, he loves it. 

How will you honor this catch?

You move slowly and he follows you with his eyes, your sharp teeth become acquainted with his skin, leaving little love marks here and there to accompany his scars. He hums in approval and lets you worship his body. Every inch is met with a kiss. You feel his muscles under your tongue and his chest hair against your nose. Those things that make him a man, and make you a man. You want to strip him of it.

His hands play your body like an instrument, fingers gently caressing your sides, moving to the small of your back, and resting above your ass. 

It's your birthday

He's letting you have control. 

What do you want to do?

You move back and admire the canvas of his body, and you release his neck to hold his legs up over your shoulders. 

"Straight to the point, huh? You animal."

You're eager to feel him. You've heard him scream for you in dreams and dreams. You want him to scream for you now. 

"Should have brought lube, but can't say I was expecting tonight to take this wild turn." He chuckles. 

It's fine. You'll make do. 

"You sure you don't want me to do this?"

You bring your hand to his face, pressing down so your palm shuts him the fuck up while you spit in your other hand and slick up your rock hard cock. 

This should be easy. One dick, one hole. Dick goes in hole. Basic math. 

Too bad the booze is making those simple instructions look like an advanced mathematical equation that will solve all the issues in the economical system if only you could find the solution. 

He shakes his head to get your hand off so you slap him playfully before focusing back on the job at hand. He props himself up on his elbows then holds your hand with one of his. You let him guide you. "Easy does it."

You nod and feel the head of your cock press against the tight ring of muscle. You push the tip in. It's an alien yet welcoming sensation, a warm heat engulfs the head of your cock and makes your toes curl. 

"Push in slowly."

It's tempting to just thrust in all at once but you obey him and move slowly, watching in owe as your cock disappears inside him. His breathing hitches and it brings you to a halt. You look up at him, eyes searching for any sign of discomfort. 

"I'm fine. Keep goin'."

The animal in you tempts you to just fuck him already. You really want to. But you're careful because this is Titus. You care about him. He's given you this gift, he's trusted you with himself. You can't fuck it up. 

So you push in until you're fully inside him, and then you wait for his instructions. 

His walls embrace you and pulsate around you. Your dick is more than pleased to be here. 

"Okay you're all strapped in, let's get this rodeo goin'."

He puts his hands on your hips and lets his thumbs draw soothing circles around your bones. You move back, leaving only the tip of your length inside him before slamming back in. There, easy. 

You keep at it, slowly picking up pace over time and holy shit, every thrust feels better than the one before it. You lean over him so you can see his face clearly. His fingers are starting to dig into your hips, your clouds of breath mix in together before dissolving into the air. He rolls his hips in time with your thrusts and meets your wave with every slam. 

Oh fuck. It's better than you could have ever imagined. You could never picture his face looking this blissful. His lips slightly parted, teeth gritted, drawing in harsh air as he breathes. His cheeks are red from lust and alcohol. Sweat drips down his sharp jaw, his back arches, and oh Dolores Dei you could cum just from knowing he's enjoying this too.

He lifts his head suddenly and presses his lips to yours. It's a hungry exchange of love on your tongues melting into salvia and spit that drips down the corner of your lips. He moans inside your mouth, and you can't hold on much longer. But you want him to cum too so you keep yourself together just a while longer. 

"Fuck, Glenny." It's a whisper against your lips. You slam into him and he curses again, a little louder. You shift slightly and bring your hands down to his ass, parting both cheeks then thrust inside him again, and again, and again. Leaving only a little space between in and out. You want more of him, more of his moans, more of your name on his tongue. More to feed your hunger. 

His hands leave your hips to wrap around your neck and your back. His nails digging into your skin, leaving red trails behind.

Then he opens his eyes, and fuck, you're convinced nothing in this world can ever even compare to the sight of him. He grabs a fist full of your hair and pulls your head down. You try to keep your eyes open to look at him but then he pulls you down further and wraps his arms around you in a warm and secure embrace. He turns his head to your ear so you could hear every moan, every breath, every praise. 

"It's okay, Glenny. Cum for me," he rubs your back soothingly and you almost choke on your lust. "Cum." 

An almost pitiful whimper escapes your lips and you're lost after that. A few more thrusts and you're emptying your load inside of him, wave after wave of bliss. "Fuck, T." It's a hiss when it leaves your lips and he pushes against you, welcoming every drop of cum filling him up. Your body shakes from pleasure, and when you come down, you feel light as a feather. It's the best feeling ever. 

He waits for you to find your ground and for your chest against his to synchronize again, then he pushes you flat against the floor and gets on top of you. 

Your gaze is still in the stars, and when you fall back down to earth, you fall hard. You search for his body to feel stability and wrap your arms around him while he straddles your hips and when he pushes down on you, it was like being shot right back into heaven. 

Even in your dazed state, you can still see the cocky look on his face. If you were sober and he wasn't fucking himself on your cock, you would punch that look right off his stuck up face but holy shit, the way he's riding you is making you want to just lie there and be his bitch. 

His hands rest on your chest and he spreads his fingers across it. He's above you like a god. His body, in all its glory, like a painting of Rome in all its greatness. You cannot even compare to him.

You watch the way he moves above you, the way his muscles flex, the sweat dripping down his chest. Your cock disappearing into his pretty little hole. His cock between you, eager for release. 

He arches his back and brings one hand to your neck. His narrow eyes speak volumes. You're a lion, a hungry beast. But he can tame you.

And then he stops. It's agonizing and cruel. But he leans down and places a quick soft kiss to your lips and it makes things better. 

He hops off your horse and the cold is more painful than a fist to the gut. You almost whimper. You need more. The beast in you is not satisfied. It craves so much more.

"Easy, partner." He pats your side then carefully pulls you towards him. This time he spits on his fingers and brings them between your asscheeks, to the pink puckered hole that's eagerly waiting. He looks at you, waiting to see if there's any sign of rejection but fuck, you're so high on lust that you don't give a shit. 

He pushes the tip of his finger in and you immediately feel a strange and novel feeling of being entered. It's not unpleasant but there's a sting to it. He knows this and waits a while before pushing it further in, then it's moving in and out of you until your walls expand around it.

A second finger is in and he stretches you with scissoring motions. It's such a weird thing for you to experience but it's not to say you don't like it. 

He searches for a while, until you're moaning and pushing back against him, the feeling is no longer that of a strange presence inside you. He looks very pleased by your reaction and gives your ass a little smack. 

"All good?"

You nod enthusiastically. 

And now it's his turn to enter you, and the feeling of his cock pushing deeper and deeper inside of you is the most fulfilling thing you've ever experienced. 

He looks at you then leans down to plant butterfly kisses all over your face. He gives you all the time you need to get used to his size but instead of telling him to move, you take matters into your own hands and push yourself back on his cock. 

"Alright, alright." He laughs softly then meets your thrusts with his own. You can't tell if you like it better when you're inside him or when he's inside you. Both feel fucking fantastic. But unlike him, you can't bring yourself to let him have complete control. You manage the pace and you want it fast and hard. He complies. 

The sound of skin smacking against skin, mixed in with a few moans and grunts fill the shack. And you once again find your rhythm of back and forth. He leans down and grabs your cock, pumping you in time with your thrusts, and your cock loves the attention. 

He looks focused and for a moment you're far more interested in his expression than sex. The look of pure pleasure on his face, and his gleeful smile... maybe it's the alcohol, no, it's most definitely the alcohol, but you think... He looks in love. Like this is more than just drunk fucking.

Stupid, right?

You try not to disturb your little lovemaking session as you sit up and he welcomes you in his arms. Your lips meet countless times and you still can't get enough of him but your head is in the clouds, and you feel the pressure rise in your lower regions with every thrust.

Fuck, you can't believe he's going to make you cum again. 

Best birthday ever.

His movement is a lot more confident and planned than yours, more experienced. You can't help but think about how many times he's done this... and if he's ever done it with a guy before.

That can't be, right?

Is now really the time for you to go into a crisis about who he fucked?

But what if.....

Oh, Fuck!! You're seeing stars again. A gasp erupts from in between your lips. He thrusts again and fuuuuck, he's slamming against that bundle of nerves that speed you off into the finish line. Another bullseye and his name rolls off your tongue like a prayer. 

"Found that G spot, huh?" 

You want to fuck yourself on his cock so hard and ride those sweet waves of orgasm again. He can see how eager you are by the way your body vibrates and shakes with need. He brushes your hair gently, soothing you through it. 

"That's it, Glenny. Good boy." 

It's hard to control yourself during this heat. The pace of his hand is quick. Every strike coupled with every thrust is making you go insane. 

"Atta boy." He whispers against your lips and when he kisses you, you can't help but bite down on his lips and tear the skin. The taste of his blood on your tongue only heightens and intensifies your pleasure. 

You throw your head back and your body arches. You're a fucking mess but he loves it. 

Tears of pleasure swell in your eyes and your wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer. "Fuckin' harder, T. Don't fuckin' stop!" Your voice is shaking but you don't give a shit.

He responds with a hum, he's more focused on getting you there than anything else.

"Oh fuck!" Rolls off your tongue again and again. Your nails on his skin rip little pieces of him and leave him bleeding. But he doesn't care, you don't care. You're so fucking close, he's so fucking close. 

And then you feel it, something warm and sticky filling you up. And you're erupting like a volcano all over his hand. He doesn't move for a while, not until he's shot every string of cum inside you. 

You both come down together this time, and you feel too heavy and tired to keep floating in heaven. 

You breathe, and he breathes, and your hearts find each other again. He pulls out of you and brings his hands to his lips, his fingers and palm are white with drops of jizz. He laps every bit of it up and if you weren't so exhausted that would have been enough to get you hard again. 

You can see it in his heavy hooded eyes, he's worn out too. So he slumps down on top of you and you lock your arms around him. 

"Happy birthday, Glenny." It's a murmur... and then it's silent after that. 

You hear him breathing evenly and it's supposed to be calming. You want to drift to sleep with him... But as your exhaustion settles in and your lust subsides, fading away and taking off those blissful blindfolds, you realize what you had just done.

Your smile fades.

Pleasure has failed you.

The silence suffocating. It gives your mind control over every thought you tried to ignore.

Oh, Glenny... what would your father say? 

Suddenly, the once pleasant sensation of being filled now makes you feel sick. All sorts of questions knock the sleep right out of you. You look down at Titus and wonder... did you just take advantage of your best friend while he was drunk? Would he have wanted this if he was sober? 

How will you face him tomorrow? 

You really fucked up, Glen. You really fucked up.

You want to hold on to Titus for comfort but you don't feel like you deserve it. 

Close your eyes, sleep. Just sleep. 

But you can't. You see the monster at home, waiting. It was right all along. All these years of abuse... You deserve it. You're disgusting and sick. You can't take this back. You can't take back what you've done to your friend's body. His skin is beneath your nails, you can't put it back. 

Oh god, what have you done?

...

...

...

You realize then, in the silence of the night, that the world does not care about your problems. It will not answer your calls for forgiveness and it will not pity you. Perhaps it has given up on you long before you even knew it and has left you in the arms of a beast in hopes of curing you of this. 

You can't be this monster. No. You won't be. 

If there's any manliness left in you to salvage, any fucking spec of it, you'll plant it back so you can once again, metaphorically, grow a pair of balls. And try not to lose them inside your best friend this time. 

What happened today will never be on your lips again. Ever. 

And tomorrow, you better hope you can set things straight with Titus.

You return to your cage with your monster and lock yourself in. When it hungers again, let it have you. You'll starve yourself to death. 


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The sun does not rise but the chirping of the birds outside tells you that you've lost a night of sleep. The man resting on your heart shifts and groans. He doesn't want to get up.

You're supposed to get ready for work.

You push him off and he groans again. "Fuck. My head." He sits up, hands clutching his throbbing head. "Ah, shit."

Then the dreaded moment. His eyes lock with yours. You can't look at him, smiling at you, calm.... happy.

"What a night, huh?"

You hoped he wouldn't remember.

He crawls towards you, his lips ghost over yours. You turn your head away.

"What's wrong?" You can hear the smirk in his voice. You're gonna be sick.

"I have to go."

He tilts his head, confused. Then his expression stiffens. "What's wrong, Glenny?" He asks again, the playful tone of voice has died on his tongue.

You get up and grab your clothes. "Nothin'." Or more truthfully, you don't want to talk about it. You want to bury it.

If you're lucky you can take a quick dip in the lake and wash yesterday away.

You head for the door and feel a strong hand on your wrist. "The fuck is wrong with you?"

You yank your hand away. "Fuckin' nothin'. How many times do I gotta say it?"

"Hey!" It's not a yell, but it's loud. It's the voice of someone who wants you to listen, someone with authority. It's the same voice he used with his team when they ignore his instructions. He's expecting you to give him your full attention and respect him on top of that. "Don't pull that shit with me. What? Did I punch you in my sleep or somethin'?"

"No."

"Then what? Was it last night?"

You roll your eyes.

He moves back and crosses his arms over his chest. "What? You didn't like havin' a dick up your ass? 'Cause you sure fuckin' sounded like you were havin' a great time last night."

"I was drunk!" You stab his chest with your finger. "You were fuckin' drunk. We didn't enjoy shit. It was just the booze fuckin' with us!"

His hand is gripping yours painfully and twisting it. "Speak for yourself!" He shows your fingers mercy and releases you from his clutch. "I had a great time. I thought we both did!"

"Well maybe you fuckin' forgot 'cause of all the drinkin' but we ain't f*ggots, T. We ain't no freaks."

His expression contorts. He's disgusted by the words that have just left your lips. He regrets ever tasting them.

It hurts... it shouldn't. But it does. Isn't this what you wanted? For him to be disgusted by what you've done?

"So you're just gonna stand there and pretend like it didn't feel good? It didn't feel right? Glen, you never fucked a chick." He means you can't fuck a chick... because you're gay. That's what he's saying. "Don't pretend you don't look at the guys when they're in the locker room," A pause. "Or at me." He points at himself.

You can't respond because you know he's right. The thought of him kept you up at night. You've done horrible, horrible things that you can't wash away.

"I can't fuckin' believe you."

His voice is a rain of needles and it pierces through your skin and into your body.

You're too blinded by your own emotions that you fail to see the pain he's swallowing down. He feels so stupid that he thought that maybe...

The two of you...

It doesn't matter now. He's too proud to finish that thought.

"You know what? Forget it. Just forget the whole fuckin'-fuckedy thing, you fucker."

He doesn't lift his arm but you see a ghost of him, preparing to punch you.

He exhales, it's full of fury but he collects himself quickly.

This easier for both of you. You feel relieved that you agree to put this behind you.

He turns his back to you to grab his clothes and you can't help but feel like something was ripped out of you. You don't know what it is... but it's gone, and it left a hole in your chest.

Whatever it was, you feel it drift away as Titus passes by you and out the door, and like a broken dog, you follow... silently... it's never been this quiet between you.

Somehow the silence is harsher than the chilling wind on your bare skin. Your feet drag through the grass and mud into the lake, where you let the water take you.

You could sink, and scream at the top of your lungs. No one would hear you. You could cry and no one would be able to tell those are your tears.

You could. But you don't.

Every moment that passes is shallow glass dragged across your skin. The air is thick. You can't stand this.

Will it ever be the same again? Or will it be like this from now on?

Fuck...

Does Titus even want to be friends anymore?

The thought terrifies you.

You don't want to be without him. It's pathetic how far you'll go for him to just... stay. And yet, if he asked you to tell him how you really felt last night, you still would lie and say it was all just the alcohol fucking you up.

You know what you want and it scares you, even if it's right there, in front of you. Even after you've had a taste. You don't want to believe he feels the same because then it's just worse. You would rather believe that it will never happen. It'll never happen because he's not queer and neither are you. You're just confused. You're mixing up your emotions, that's all.

You're suddenly filled with unbearable hate for your father. It's that monster's fault you're like this. If he didn't fuck you up, this would have never happened. You would know and understand your feelings like a normal fucking human being.

But that can't be it, right? He beats you because he already knows, doesn't he?

He knows.

You've always been sick.

"Shouldn't you be leaving for work?"

You swim back to land and get dressed. Your clothes still reek of booze.

Your new jacket is still fresh and clean though. But you don't wear it. You don't feel like you deserve to.

"I'm goin' to check on Tibbs and mom." He doesn't wait for you to say anything. He's already dressed and on his way.

... the cold can never hurt you more than this loneliness.

Your body is in great pain, not from the hangover, but from the excessive emotional demons manifesting themselves in the core of your bones, making everything hurt.

They don't leave you. Maybe they'll never leave. Oh, if you could just punch yourself in the dick. It won't make things any better, actually, it'll make everything worse. But you're just angry. So angry that you snap at your coworkers over the slightest things.

Today, you just don't want to deal with anyone.

Titus is not there when you finish your shift. He's not waiting for you like he's done every day.

"Where's the fella? You two break up?"

You don't think (You rarely ever do), you just throw a punch. Somehow it's strong enough to bring a man who is bigger than you down with a thud.

Something in you snaps. You can't control it. So you keep throwing punches and you don't stop until mercy decides to bring a few more men to pull you away.

Your knuckles are red and bloodied but you're far from satisfied. You want to hurt someone, real badly.

A mighty howl rips through your throat as you kick and struggle against the people restraining you. They don't let you go until you're worn out.

You'll definitely get in trouble for this.

The roads of Martinaise are wider than you remember them to be. Your walk home is as unpleasant as it's ever been. There's no hug goodbye, And no 'I'll see you tomorrow's.

There will never be another tomorrow.

The door creeks open and you throw your duffle bag to the side. Your nose has become desensitized to the stench of alcohol and weeks old laundry. You bend down and pick up the pressed metal cans that have fallen from the overflown garbage bag and bring a new one to put them in.

There are shards of glass from broken bottles that were thrown against the wall, leaving behind a brownish stain on the already decaying walls.

It would take more effort than you're willing to put to clean the entire place.

The house is decrepit and silent. At least, for now, you don't have to deal with the monster.

Your bed is a mess but in the current circumstances, you find it more comfortable than anything. You want to close your eyes and sleep... And if you're lucky, you'll never wake up.

You drift, while the ghost of some rough fingers traces your jaw, and a soft pair of lips kiss you gently. You taste him. His ghost haunts you, and there's no god to pray to. No Dolores Dei to save you. You'll never forget.

You're thankful for the darkness when it comes. The wind carries away the faint scent of musk and lets you find peace.

... If only for a while.

...... You can enjoy this.

A dreamless slumber. You only hear yourself breathing in the vast void of the abyss. Nothing but a black screen, pitch blackness all around you.

And then the door opens.

Your paradise of nothingness is lost.

Outside, you hear the sound of the fridge door opening and closing, the sound of glass being broken, then a loud curse.

The wind seeps in through the cracks in your window, and Martinaise tempts you to keep your eyes closed. Her translucent hands brush through your hair. The ghost of the city is a mother, and you are her child. Find peace in her embrace.

Something crashes outside and you hear the monster howl. It terrifies you how much you sound like it when you're angry.

Now would be a good time to block your door.

But you don't. Instead, you leave the comfort of your bed and head outside, beyond the narrow hallway, you see the wide figure of the beast, in a fit of rage over who knows what. It turns its head and its eyes glare at you. There's no turning back now.

Why have you done this?

He points at you and beckons you to come to him. You do.

Why are you doing this? Do you hate yourself that much?

"Where have you been, boy?"

"Work."

He smacks you across the face.

"Don't play dumb with me. Where were you yesterday?"

You grit your teeth and fight the urge to rub your reddened cheek. "It was my birthday," not that it matters to it. You doubt your own father remembers. "I was out with friends."

It looks at you as if it was trying to remember something, maybe how old you are. But it just lifts its gigantic head. "You went out drinkin'? Partyin'? Got laid, huh?"

You shrug.

It leans down. "Finally had a taste of some good pussy for once in your life? Hm?"

You feel insignificant under its stare.

"Touched some tits?"

Lie. Just say yes.

"You finally a man?"

Say yes.

Lie like you lie to yourself every day.

You open your mouth but before you're even able to let out a breath, it slaps you across the face again. You turn your head to face it, only to be knocked down by the force of its punch. You pick yourself up and feel something getting thrown over your face. You recognize the smell.

It's your jacket.

"What's this?" What your father is saying is, this does not smell like a woman. "You been out gettin' fucked by your f*ggot boyfriend?!"

He knows. He knows. He knows.

You're a dead man.

"It's just a present."

Another punch. Your bones ring with agony but you stand your ground.

You spit, and your saliva, mucous, and blood stain the ground. You don't have to take this.

"What were you doin' last night? And don't you dare lie to me, boy!"

You let out a sharp breath; it's with fury and makes your nostrils burn. Or maybe it's just the sting of the beast's punches.

"I was out," you say slowly like your father is some idiot who can't understand a simple string of words. "With my friends. This," you hold up the jacket in one hand. "Is just a birthday present from the Hardies. It don't mean shit. It's just a jacket. I didn't fuck no queers. Your alcoholic ass is probably just smellin' the fuckin' booze."

You see the punch coming this time and move out the way.

"I'm not a kid anymore! You can't just kick me around like a dog."

You don't tell a monster what to do, especially when that monster is your father.

This punch has more force to it. You think this beast's hand is capable of punching through your ribcage. You're breathless and coughing. Getting air into your lungs has become a painful task.

You can turn around and dash for your room before this gets nasty. You remember Titus's gun, hidden in a box under your bed.

But instead, you collect yourself and let him throw another punch. You dodge, the force of his swing pulls him forward just enough for him to hit the wall instead of your head.

"Fuck you!" You snarl. Your own monster is ready to go up against his. It's a losing fight but you're too angry to care.

You're angry at this fucker for giving you this vile thing inside you that makes you do stupid things. The hunter that hungers for cheap thrills in the form of physical confrontations and sickening thoughts, queer thoughts to get off.

You spit at it and grab your jacket that's fallen on the floor. If you didn't value this thing too much, you would have strangled your old man with it.

It grabs you by the back of your shirt and yanks you towards it. You try to pull away but it's futile.

"We're not done here!"

"Well, I'm done with this shit."

You've done a great mistake, and that's insinuating that you're walking out. This monster has abandonment issues, first your mom and now you? It's not going to let you walk out.

You're ungrateful, it thinks. It gave you a home. It let you leave when you wanted. It didn't lock you up. It fed you and raised you. It gave you a life. This is how you repay it?

Its grip on you tightens but it does not hit you.

"It's all her fault," it says. "You were too much of a burden even on her." It holds on to that thought, the thought that you're nothing but a burden. It holds on to it so it could fuel its anger.

You want to say she left because she couldn't live with this beast but you're not sure if that's actually the case. Perhaps it's for the better. You shouldn't add fuel to the fire.

"Maybe if you spent as much time on raisin' me as you did gettin' wasted then I would have been the son you wanted!"

Well, that's certainly fuel.

"Fucker..." it's a hiss under your breath but it makes something in him snap. The rain of punches pours on for what feels like hours.

And hours...

And hours...

And when it finally stops, you're on the verge of blacking out. You think you might have actually passed out a couple of times while his knuckles tore through your bones like paper because every time you open your eyes, everything seems darker.

You try to push yourself up but your body begs you to just stay down and let it rest for a while. You hear the sound of something click behind you. Your nerves are on fire, sending the rest of your body a code red... but it refuses to move. You feel a heavy weight over your body. The monster's weight keeping you down.

A sharp blade is pressed against the back of your head and you realize it's a pocket knife, sharp enough to cut through your skin with ease. But it doesn't. Instead, the metal is threading through your hair and then separates it from your head. Long strands and tons of golden locks cut short.

You feel a piece of you die with every lost strand. Your shoulders feel bare, and you can feel the wind against the back of your neck. It'll grow again... but it'll take years for it to be the same.

You close your eyes. Your head becomes filled with one thought. One cold, dark, and violent thought.

You're going to kill this monster.

...

The weight over your body is lifted. It becomes slightly easier for your lungs to find air but it's tired of smelling old rotting wood.

When your eyes open again, everything is dark. The only light comes from the moon. It's dim and faint and fades when the clouds pass by.

You stare at it for a while from where you lie down beaten on the floor, and Martinaise looks back at your fragile frame.

Have you learned nothing?

You force your body to stand, and limp towards your jacket. When you fall on your bed, it's the only blanket you need.

The night is harsh on your aching body. But you're tired enough to fall asleep.

* * *

The mirror does not recognize you with your hair cut short, the blade that had cut it made it uneven and messy, much like how it was when you were a kid but worse. You look disgusting. You can't bear to look at the thing staring back at you so you busy yourself washing your face. You open the cabinet next to the mirror and peel open a few band-aids to put over your red and purple skin

When you leave the bathroom, you pick up some clean clothes and throw them on before topping it all off with your brand new jacket.

"Hardie" it says on the back. You wonder if he'll show up today.

Under your bed, you find the box you've hidden with your gun in it. The weight of it is comforting in your hand and it seems equally happy to be with you.

You walk outside and don't bother to say hello to the beast clawing and gnawing at its morning breakfast. It looks filthy; nails dark with dirt, face unshaven and unclean, collecting crumbs from his meal. You take your gun out, and before it has a chance to react you pull the trigger. One to its chest. The blood pools and stains its dirty sweat-stained clothes.

It looks up at you surprised, then angry. "You fuckin--"

The trigger is pulled again, another shot, this time in its head. It does not say another word after that, it will never say anything again. It will never talk down to you, ever. Its eyes stare blankly at you but its face is still full of rage. You step closer to it, shoving the gun between its lips and yellow rotten teeth, then you fire the third shot. The next bullet lands in its disgusting numb heart, and then finally, your last shot is one of rage, right in its crotch.

You take a moment to take in the sight of your masterpiece. Blood drips down the bullet hole in its head, over its eye, down its nose. The chair beneath it is turning red, and the floor beneath it is a steadily growing pool.

You feel satisfied but not quite quenched. Regardless, you go into the kitchen, clean your gun and your hands, then take your bag from next to the door and leave for work.

You breathe in the cold air and look up at the graying sky. The world has never looked more beautiful.

When you arrive at work you get the scolding you so rightfully deserve after attacking your co-worker yesterday. You're let off with a pay deduction and having to apologize to the man you brutally beat, and honestly? You don't give a shit.

You go on about your day. Some kind of adrenaline makes the pain in your body feel insignificant. It was like being high on drugs (And you would know because you've done drugs before) except you're just high on murder.

You work overtime to make up for what you've done. Titus won't be here anyway so who cares. You got nowhere else to be, no one waiting at home.

By the time you're done with work, the sun has left an orange taint in the sky. You grab your bag and fight off the urge to check the lake. Instead, you go straight to the closest payphone and make a call.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Hardie? Is Titus there?"

"Oh Hello, Glen. Yeah. I'll call him over."

"No. It's fine. Can you just tell him to meet me at my place?"

"Of course. Everything alright?"

You lean against the payphone. "Yeah. Everythin' is just fine. Peachy really."

The other side is silent for a while. But then you hear her go, "alright, honey. I'll tell Titus to come over." And then she abruptly hangs up without a goodbye.

You put the handle back and then head home. The door greets you with a squeak as you open it. The stench of decay is harsh on your nose but strangely, you don't mind.

The lights illuminate the room and give you a clear look at the pale corpse still sitting in front of a roach-infested breakfast. You pick up the plate from in front of it and toss the food in the trash can before putting the plate in the sink. On your way back to the living room you grab the kitchen knife and head back to the body.

Carefully, you take off your jacket and place it on the opposite side of the table. You fish inside your pocket for your cigarettes and light one up. The smoke makes your already fucked up lungs feel like they're burning. It's a good burn, the type that reminds you you're alive.

You walk back to the body and stare down at it for a while before holding its enormous hand in yours, it's cold to the touch, and its skin is paper compared to your tuned sun-kissed skin. Those fingers brought you so much pain when they curled up into a fist. Now they're limb, they'll never hurt you again.

You make sure of it when you put the big hand on the table and bring the knife down to it, once, twice, until the fingers detach from the rest of its hand.

Even though the big man can't hurt you anymore, you feel satisfied with your actions. The monster is helpless and can't stop you from mutilating it.

You exhale smoke in its ghostly face and tap on the cigarette, letting the ashes fall on the short tuffs of its dark hair before putting the roll back between your lips.

The chair screeches as you pull it back slightly, and you force your game to bend forward, resting its lifeless head on the table. You force its mouth open and pull out its disgusting tongue. This slippery thing has called you names and made you feel like shit for years.

"Who's the man now?" You say as though it could reply. "I am! You're nothing! You're fuckin' dead!"

Its tongue is still. Such a soft, delicate thing that can do so much irreversible damage.

Chop.

You separate it from its roots and then push the body back into sitting position.

The smoke from your cigarette clouds your vision for a moment and then you have a clear view of what to do next. You lodge the knife into the beast's ribcage and pull downwards.

Those glassy eyes stare at you as you rip through your prey. You can't stand your reflection in them so you move its face to the side, then pull the knife out only to stab it again, trying to break through the barrier of bones.

"Glen? Jesus fuckin' Christ."

You hear someone cough behind you. You don't bother to turn and look. You're too focused.

You're equally disgusted and intrigued by the blood on your hands. It stains your clothes and your face as you wipe it with your palm.

Fingers curl around your shoulder and pull you away. You shake them off. "Let me have this, T," You yell at the person standing behind you. "Just let me have this." You waited so long to rip this beast's heart out. You just want to see it, to see if it ever had one.

Behind you, Titus crosses his arms over his chest and watches you go on. You miss the look of amusement on his face. He has his own hunter side, and I'm not talking about the side he got from his father. He's more composed than you but this violence draws him in.

He lets you put your hand between the cuts in the monster's chest and part the skin. You search for its heart.

There's so much in the way. You want to just rip this body in two. You stab and tear, and you reach in again and again until you become frustrated.

Then Titus stops you again.

"It's alright, Glenny."

Your arms are dripping with blood and gore. You look like a psychopath.

"It's alright." he says again.

You come down from your high extremely quickly, when you crash back on earth, it's painful. You look down at your arms and feel terrified.

The stench hits your nose and makes you feel like throwing up.

Your masterpiece is ugly, contorted, violent, and horrific.

You want to get out of your clothes and crawl out of your skin.

What have you done?

"Come on," Titus says. "Let's get you washed up and bury this fuck."

"No!" You yell. "I don't wanna fuckin' bury it!" You don't want it to find peace. Not after all its done. It doesn't deserve peace.

"Well, you can't just leave him here."

"I can. Let it fuckin' rot!"

He moves closer to you, enough for you to see the concerned look on his face. It's the first time you've seen him clearly since...

His face brings you to tears. You feel them fight to escape your eyes and you grit your teeth to keep them inside.

He brings his hand up to your short hair. It's short from some sides and longer on others, it's heinous, like it's been cut by a drunken man, which it was. Your bangs are still long and don't match the rest of your hair, you should have fixed it in the morning.

This monster has done awful things to you, Titus knows that. He thinks this bastard got what it deserves. If anything, he wishes the worst upon its corpse. If you wanted, he would take the knife from you and search for its heart on his own, just to satisfy your bloodlust.

He doesn't want you to be this kind of monster.

Why does he care about you this fucking much?

"Okay. Let's get you washed up and pack your things. You can stay at my place."

"No... I'll stay at the shack."

He thinks about it for a while then nods. "Okay. Alright. We can make this work."

The last bit of adrenaline leaves your body. Suddenly, you feel like your legs can't carry the weight of heavy reality that weighs you down. You're a murderer. An ugly thing. A violent thing. Truth is, you like it too, despite what you tell yourself. It's already too late.

"Come on." Titus helps you to your room and leaves you sitting on your bed while he turns on the shower.

Your friend carefully undresses you until you're bare in front of him and drags you to the shower to scrub the blood and gore from your body.

His hands against your frame bring back memories you don't want to think about right now but you're too tired to clean yourself.

You look at him from the corner of your eyes. He's too occupied with the blood on your hands.

For a moment you think it's impossible for him to be here. After what you've done? Why would he show up?

"T?"

He looks up at you. His hazel eyes are far too real.

"Am I dreaming?"

He chuckles. "No."

"Did I off myself?"

His smile fades and he tilts his head. "Why would you say that?"

You shrug.

He looks down for a moment. He didn't expect you to say something like this... "Do you think about it, Glenny?"

"What?"

"Offing yourself?"

You lower your head. "I wouldn't do it, you know?"

Its silent for a while then Titus rubs the back of his head, you've put him in a really awkward situation. "I don't know what to say. But it would really suck if you did that." Suicide, it's not really on the list of topics between men like you. That means you have to say that you're feeling like shit, admit that you're depressed. Depression? Imagine telling your macho manly men that you're depressed. They'll laugh at you. 

"It don't matter."

His eyes widen with rage and surprise. "How can you say that?"

You shrug again. "You got other friends."

"It ain't the same, man!"

"But I thought you didn't wanna be friends no more."

He slams his palm against his forehead. "I was pissed, you jackass. But I still love you, Glenny!"

You're not sure if he means...

"You're my best friend. We'll fight over dumb shit. But nothin' is gonna make me hate you. I can't imagine my life without you."

You feel relieved.

"Are you still mad?"

"Yeah. But if leavin' you for a day does this to you then, man, I'm never leavin' you again."

Please don't, you want to say. But you don't.

You let him wash the rest of the blood off and he carefully tries not to press on your bruises.

You watch the blood go down the drain and then it stops when the water closes.

He gives you a towel. "Dry yourself."

You do, then you wrap it around yourself. He sits you down in front of your old mirror and takes the scissors. Bits of your golden hair fall to the floor under you as he cuts the still long parts of your hair to match the rest. When he's done, you still hate your reflection but it looks better than before.

"Thanks, T."

"You're welcome."

"No. I mean... for..."

"I know."

You don't need to say anything else. You get dressed and he helps you pack your things

"We can work some more on the shack. We'll make it a very cozy home."

He goes on about planning. Moving this here, tearing a wall, building a new one. Bigger kitchen, bigger room. You'll get a new bed, a better mirror. Then he stops abruptly. "Huh..." He picks up a photo from your nightstand. "Check us out. Dumb kids with no worry in the world."

It was a photo of you and Titus when you were fourteen, holding your rugby ball. You looked so happy. This is only one of many photos you have of the two of you. Each photo seems like it was a better time.

"Yeah."

He puts it in the bag carefully then goes back to blabbering on about improving the shack. The sound of his voice is comforting.

Outside, the corpse of your father continues to rot.

It's a new beginning for you. You hope it'll be a good one.


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW; self-harm and NSFW

**Chapter 13**   
_**(2 years later)** _

You stare at the window of your now home. Your cozy little shack is now bigger. You got a room, a kitchen, a living room, and a bathroom. It's nothing too fancy and it took you this long to even be able to pay for some of the shit you own. Everything is brand new. You didn't want anything from that old rotting house.

You haven't thought about your father for a long time. Life has been different ever since that day. You've never felt more free.

You've worked hard on yourself the past two years. You've been able to patch up your relationship with Titus, and though you still feel that sickening desire to taste him, that part of you is now more contained.

You catch yourself eyeing men every now and then, but you're able to stop yourself.

You won't be a slave to this sickening hunger.

The sight outside still brings you solitude even after all this time. The waves in the not-so-far distance lull you to sleep every night and wake you in the early morning. The cold wind breeze rushes in through the window and replaces the smell of alcohol, drugs, and cigarettes.

This place, it's special to you. Of course, it is. This shack... you and Titus worked hard to make it some place you can call home. Sometimes you're still plagued with the thoughts of what happened here, late at night, when you're drunk and alone. But it helps to know that you and Titus have moved past it.

You get off your comfy-not so-comfy little bed and walk to the mirror, stretching on your way there. Your reflection in the glass is something you're slowly getting more familiar with. The wounds on your body have long healed but the scars remain to remind you of the ghost long gone. You haven't worn a bandaid or needed bandages in some time (aside from work-related injuries and some street scuffles) the only marks left are a few bruises. Nothing too serious.

Your blue eyes stare back at you, heavy and tired. You're still working on your sleeping schedule. Outside, you hear something shuffling in the tall grass. Probably a wild animal.

Your hunting rifle rests against the wall, not too far out of reach. Your closet is full of guns that you've started collecting around a year ago. Titus would make sure you kept the habit of having guns around healthy. None of them are loaded, and that's alright, you're more interested in their designs and the way they're put together.

Sometimes you like to spend the night with a smoke and your tinkering fingers. Maybe you can build your own gun one day.

The gun Titus gave you has it's own special place. You carry it with you when you leave your house. It automatically gives you an upper hand in any fight. (Unless the other person also has a gun then it's really up to Titus to break things off before someone ends up dead)

Despite all the ups in the past years, there have also been many downs. The arcade place you frequented had shut down and construction on a new building over its corpse has begun.

You hear there's some trouble brewing in the docks, you're not sure what it's all about but it's getting Martinaise all worked up.

Titus has joined the rowing club and is working up the ranks to captain (at least that's his goal) it's left you with more time on your own than usual but that's fine. Sometimes Titus invites you along, and you take a long ride out on his brand new boat. He comes back in the evening and rests, then heads off to work.

On days where he leaves you alone, you busy yourself with the shack. What needs fixing? What needs replacing? What needs moving? What needs adding? You don't let yourself sit alone with your thoughts because then you slip into dangerous territories, into deep alcoholism, into drug-infused hallucinations.

You go outside, and smell the fresh air (well, as fresh as anything can be in Martinaise) And sometimes you head to the nearest bar, you have a drink, and try your luck with some women.

You're not good at picking women up. At all. You're not a smooth talker like Titus. Actually, one time you got slapped hard across the face for telling a woman to show you her tits.

Regardless, whatever unlucky lady that does decide to go home with you either gets terrified of your gun collection (not because of the guns themselves. Nah. But rather your extensive knowledge on how each gun works. Maybe when you're trying to bang a lady, don't tell her about your gun obsession?) or she ends up getting frustrated and leaving because your dick is a choosy bitch. By that, I mean no amount of deep-throating is gonna wake your dong up from its slumber.

If they're not the ones getting frustrated with you then you're the one throwing tantrums about how they can't suck dick.

Regardless, you've failed to sleep with countless women.

Wonder why?

When you're not trying to get your rocks off, you're out doing what you do best... causing trouble.

You put your jacket on and head out, your gun is in a makeshift holster by your side.

The night is a dark veil, and the wind is cold and harsh but it fails to bite into you with your jacket on. You hear the dock in the distance; the ships, the workers shouting, feet stomping.

Light flickers at the tip of your cigarette as you bring it to life with fire from your lighter. You shove your hands in your pockets and then enter the bar.

The bartender is not happy to see you.

"Please don't, Dixon."

"I'm a payin' customer ain't I?" You say as you sit down.

The bartender sighs and moves an ashtray closer to you.

"You got some real problems, you know that?"

"What are you? My mom? I'm here to drink."

"And harass some poor woman."

You glare at him. "I don't fuckin' harass no one."

"Just have your drink and fuck off. And please, try not to start any fights."

He pours you a drink. You take the glass then give your back to the bartender.

"Your buddy working tonight?"

You ignore him and take a sip of your drink. It's cold and kicks you in the throat on its way down.

"Think I like it better when he's around."

Yeah, well that makes the two of you.

Nothing catches your eye for the longest time. You become more interested in your drinks than you are in fishing for company. Every now and then you would call up a pretty lady and try to smooth talk her (as best as you know how to. Most of the tricks you learned from Titus or course. "Make her feel important, tell her she's pretty" you know, that kind of garbage that doesn't actually work on a sober woman and only rarely works on an intoxicated woman too.)

So you try to strike up a conversation with this one woman; slender, green eyes, long brunette hair, yadda yadda yadda. She has big tits and a big ass that's really the only reason you talked to her.

"You from around here?"

"No. Just passing by."

Her voice is soft. You think it might even sound seductive.

"I could show you around."

Show her the road straight to your place, you mean.

She looks at you with a hint of a smile in her emerald eyes. Her arm rests on the counter, propping up her head. "So what do you do?" Her free hand comes up to your arm and she gives your bicep a light squeeze. "Big strong man like you must be doing some heavy lifting."

You puff your chest and give her your best confident smile. "Years of liftin' and," you flex your muscles. "Playin' rugby."

"Yeah? How old are you?"

Twenty is not a bad age but you think about lying because this woman definitely looks older than you.

"Twenty-five."

"Really? You look younger."

You shrug. "I'm healthy, it cuts some of the years off."

And that's where you lost her. You most definitely don't look healthy. You look like you smoke and drink way too much to cope with your depression. There are black bags under your eyes that are hard to miss, and your voice sounds like you have a terrible cold. You are anything but healthy.

"Alright, mister healthy. What's your name?"

You don't like this question. They won't remember you tomorrow anyway so what's the point?

"What's yours?"

The question is such a turn off that neither of you want to answer it.

You have a few drinks and chat for a while. This is the one, you can feel it! (But does your penis feel it?)

Finally, she agrees to go home with you after she's wasted enough. She tells you about her hometown on the way to the lake, some other poverty-stricken district.

She ran into some trouble with the law for drugs. That's how it usually is. People who end up in Martinaise are usually folks who are on the run from the police. What better place to go to than the one place where there is no law?

"That's a nice boat."

"This old thing?" You point at the wooden boat tied to the jetty. She follows your finger and walks to it.

Time has not been kind to the old thing; the wood has weakened over time from the water. You and Titus don't take it out as often anymore but you keep it maintained and fix what you can.

"T.H and G.D?"

"It's my friend's boat."

"Is he T.H or G.D.?"

"He's none of your business." You don't mean to sound this hostile but you would really rather skip this small talk. "Listen, you'll freeze your tits off out here. Come inside."

She looks slightly offended at your outburst but decides to follow you inside regardless.

Your home is not that cozy and it smells like smoke. She looks at the guns in the corner of the living room next to the cabinet that holds even more guns and then her eyes fall on you. "Are you a hunter?"

"No. But I hunt sometimes."

"What do you do with all these guns then?"

Don't talk about guns, Glen. You want to get boned. Don't scare her away and make her think you're a psychopath.

"They're empty. I just collect them. Better they be here than the hands of some dumb kid."

"Are they really?"

"What?"

"Empty?"

You pause for a moment then lift your jacket. "This one ain't. But the rest, yeah."

"Let's see here; a strange looking man who lives in a secluded shack with a bunch of guns. Are you a serial killer? Do you use that boat outside to dump bodies far into the lake?"

You look at her as though she suddenly grew a second head. "What the fuck?!"

"Well? Are you? Because I've been with some insane guys before and though the sex was mind-blowing, I almost died. Would rather not repeat the experience."

"No. I'm not fuckin' serial killer."

Why the fuck do women talk so much? You think. Why can't she just take her clothes off already and get on your bed? Terrible train of thought. I would like to say this does not reflect who you are. You're just horny at the moment. You actually love women, not in a sexual way. You like their company, sometimes, on some days, the women you take home just end up having a chat with you and leaving. Interesting bunch. They listen and they're not as judgmental as men. It's easier to be yourself with them. You don't always feel pressured to be a manly man. 

She stares at you, as though she's trying to detect a lie in your answer. Maybe she found what she wanted because her eyes were casting a spell on you then she approaches you. She takes your big hand in her small delicate ones then lets you lead her to your room. Finally.

You sit on the bed and watch her undress. It's quite the show. She's slow in removing every piece of clothing, giving you time to eye every bit of newly exposed skin.

Her shoulders are slender, pale compared to your skin. She's soft to the touch, especially against your rough fingers. Her top is off, and her bra comes undone in a click and holy shit she could smother you with her breasts.

She climbs on the bed and crawls towards you. You can't take your eyes off her tits.

She's practically in your lap and you indulge yourself in life's greater delights. You don't really have to do much cuz she's pressing her chest against your face (unbeknownst to you, she's leaning over to grab your pack of cigarettes from the nightstand. She makes herself comfortable and lights up a cigarette to smoke.)

You move back slightly to look at her, she's busy inspecting a photo of you and Titus that was on the desk by the bed. "Wait," she blows a cloud then keeps the cigarette between her fingers. "You're not gay, are you?" She moves the picture so it's facing you, then she takes another drag. "Cute boyfriend. I'm guessing he's T.H/G.D?"

You snatch the photo from her. "First of all, fuck you. I ain't no fuckin' f*g. He's just my friend."

She giggles. "Touched a nerve I see. What? Is he straight?"

"We both are."

She hums then puts the cigarette on the ashtray. Her hands are now on your shoulders, fondling your hair, her red lips don't ask you to kiss them, your liquor stained lips don't feel the urge to either, but you move forward regardless. It only takes one taste, a spark, and then you're swapping spit. Your hands wrap around her smaller figure and pull her closer. Somehow this feels strange. Like the skin against your palm is not meant for you.

You don't hunger for more when you sink your teeth into her shoulders. You don't crave her flavor. The beast within you feels nothing. Not when you touch her tits, not when you grab her ass, not while you kiss her chest, not when she brings her hand to rub you through your pants.

Nothing.

You feel the frustration creeping up. You hold the woman tighter, and you become more aggressive as time passes.

Her lips are against your now bare cock. Her long brown hair is moved to one side but it doesn't keep you from digging your fingers through the locks and grabbing two fist fulls of brunette hair.

You close your eyes and try to feel some sort of pleasure when she wraps her lips around you. Focus. Focus.

You push her down and force her to take more of you in. Her mouth is a wet and warm cavern of delight, and yet, your cock does not seem interested.

It feels good, so why aren't you getting hard?

You like this. You're enjoying it...

You don't understand...

You hear her yelp. Your fists in her hair are now pulling painfully to the point where some of her locks are now loose in your grip.

You let go of her.

She rubs the spot where it hurts then looks at you. It's hard to swallow your anger but you do. The last thing you want to do is beat a woman up just because your dick isn't cooperating.

"See? I knew you were queer."

"Get out."

"No shame in it. You got a really cute friend. I'd be gay for him too."

"Get. Out."

She doesn't seem to understand why you're upset. Her eyes on you make you feel uncomfortable and they do little to help you keep your anger from breaking loose.

It's like she's frozen, perhaps from fear. Perhaps she senses the situation she's gotten herself into and realizes that you're no prince charming. Whatever it is, it's pissing you off, and the dam keeping the lava fueled fury contained has broken.

You grab her shirt and jacket and you throw them at her. "GET OUT!!" It's a dangerous monstrous howl that tears through your lungs and shakes your vocal cord, it echoes throughout the entire shack and stirs life into the wildlife outside. You now truly see how scared she has become and without another word, she runs off.

In the presence of no one but yourself, you allow yourself to be angry. You throw your head back and slam it against the wall repeatedly, and in a fit of blind rage, you grab the framed photo of you and Titus and throw it across the room. It hits the wall, the glass shatters. Another scream erupts from in between your lips, and with no one to take your anger out on, you abuse the wall.

It should have been easy. Her lips were an angel's kiss.

You should have been able to fuck her.

You look down between your legs at your still dangling dick and you feel those old dark thoughts come creeping back.

You want to hurt yourself because there's no one else to hurt.

You bring your arm up to your mouth and bite down hard, your sharp teeth sink into the skin. You can at least feel this. It brings you little satisfaction but it helps soothe the flames of your anger.

When you finally release your skin, there are little drops of blood around the soon to be bruised flesh. You head to the bathroom and quickly remedy the sting with some cold water. Your arm aches from the force of your bite... good...

You punish yourself because your father is no longer here to punish you. He has stopped abusing you but now you've begun to abuse yourself.

There are a few faded marks on both your arms, of bruises that have just healed and ones that are still healing.

You look at yourself in the mirror and the question still echoes in your head...

Why?

You wash your face, and then finally tuck the little bastard back into your pants. When you return to your room, you see the shattered pieces of the photo frame. You pick up the photo from inside the remains and look at it.

A blue sky, tall yellowing grass, and two very happy boys.

If there was any anger left in you, it dissolves into thin air.

A sad smile crosses your lips, and your fingertips brush off the remains of the shattered glass from the picture. With no frame to home it, you put the photo under your pillow and rest your head on top of it.

Perhaps it will bring you dreams of the good old days.

* * *

"Looks like somebody had company last night. Got lonely without me?"

Your eyes flutter open. On the edge of the bed, you see the blurry figure of your friend come into focus. He's dangling the lady's bra. You must have forgotten to throw it at her last night.

"Don't you sleep?" You mumble to him then turn around, putting the blanket over your head.

"I get plenty of sleep," He looks back at the ground where the broken glass still lies. "Please tell me you didn't hurt her."

You grunt.

A heavy pain surges through the side of your body as his fist collides with your bones.

"Glen!"

You look at him. His expression is stiff and very.... Very serious.

"I didn't fuckin' hurt her."

He's waiting for further explanation.

A sigh escapes your lips and you sit up, all sleep has gone out the window. You're not sure if it's better to lie or be honest...

"We threw shit around," you shrug. "You know. A little bit of making out here and fuckin' there. Shit falls, it breaks."

He gives you a look, a playful, teasing look, then he punches you again, this time with less force and more care.

"Look at you, showin' the ladies a good time. You animal."

Oh if he knew.

"Come on. Sun's up. We got shit to do," he pauses and looks at your covers. "Hope you're covered." His grin tells you he's joking. He doesn't care if you're naked or not. You literally fucked before, he's more than just seen your dick.

You wonder if he still thinks about it.

The cold engulfs you as soon as the blanket slips away from your skin.

"She's a biter, ain't she?" You hear Titus say. Your eyes follow his to your arm. The purple and blue skin would cry to him if it could, but instead, you smirk.

"Yeah. Real wild lady."

He lifts his head, and it's silent for a moment. You feel your heart climb your vocal cords up your throat, but you keep your fake macho face on.

"So what? You gonna be seein' her again?"

You shrug. "Probably not."

"Lemme guess, small tits?"

You chuckle. "Huge, actually. She could smother you with 'em."

He joins you in your laughter. "What's not to keep then?"

You shrug. "Settlin' ain't my thing."

He's either looking for lies in your story or... he's jealous. You think the latter is impossible. Why does he care anyway? "What's with all these questions anyway? Didn't you just say we got shit to do? I ain't askin' if you fucked someone's mom last night."

He laughs again, louder, more heart-filled. "Alright, alright." A tug on his cap to adjust it. The hat casts a shadow over his eyes for a moment, but hazel eyes never lose their light.

You throw on whatever clothes that don't smell like complete shit and then head out. Titus's mom has you run some big boy errands. You also do some grocery shopping. Typical stuff, typical day.

You and Titus talk about the little things and drag them on for hours, laughter is in your company, you welcome it.

Then it flees the scene when a gunshot echoes through the streets, scaring off the birds in the trees, and silencing the people.

You wait to see who'll drop dead.

This is the second shooting this week. The first one was a mugging, a poor old man who wasn't going to fight back. The kids mugging him probably got scared... or just lacked empathy.

You wonder if it's the same gang.

Another shot. It sounds closer. Finally, you see the person with the gun in the middle of the crowd, frantically pointing his gun around. A disheveled young boy, thin, dangerously so. Eyes sunken and restless in a way a young boy's eyes should never be. His clothes don't look like they do much to protect him from the cold.

Titus moves closer, you follow. The kid is yelling something that you don't understand. The language is unfamiliar to you.

"Easy," Titus says, putting his hands up to show the kid that he's no threat. "Put that gun down, now. You don't wanna get others hurt."

The two shots from earlier, you see what remains of them on the ground, under the snow. They were warning shots.

"You see, my buddy here," he points at you. "He knows a lot about guns. You can give it to him. Then we can talk, alright? You look upset. We'll help."

The kid looks at you, you look at his gun. Two shots fired, four rounds he could empty into you or anyone around you.

The boy says something and waves his gun in a panic. Neither you nor Titus understand.

"Does anyone know what the fuck this kid is saying?" He looks at the crowd. Nothing.

Then finally, "something about his dad? I think?" A woman says.

"Alright, okay," Titus crosses his arms over his chest and rubs his jaw. "Can you ask him to take us to his old man?"

"I can try."

That's enough for the older man.

She speaks to him, he nods quickly.

"Good," your friend puts his hand out. "But gun first."

The boy looks at him, then at his open hand. He doesn't trust Titus enough yet.

"Listen, kid. We're gonna go with you but we're not gonna help unless you hand over the gun."

The woman translates but struggles to find the words. Regardless, the boy seems to understand. He hesitates again but finally decides to give the gun to Titus who then hands it to you. You empty it immediately and stuff the remaining bullets in your pocket. It'll make a nice addition to your collection.

You walk and walk, till the buildings start looking more eaten up. Ghosts howl in the empty streets. It's obvious no one visits this part of the district often.

From the rubble, you feel eyes watch you. They're everywhere. You're almost tempted to load the gun again.

Then the boy stops and points to a small tent.

Titus ducks his head in first. There's an awful stench coming from inside the tent, you don't want to poke your head in, alas, a citizen might be in need and you know a thing or two about feeling helpless and abandoned. The woman with you covers her nose and steps back. You let her have her space. Women are delicate creatures after all.

Inside the tent is a man with an actively bleeding wound. He's sweating profusely, and from the looks of it, he has been here for a while.

"Shit."

Titus quickly takes off his jacket and hands it over to you, then uses his tanktop to cover the bleeding bullet hole.

You're surprised the man is not dead but by the looks of it, he could let go any moment now.

"What do we do?" You ask. You're not sure there's much you can do really.

Titus remains silent for a while, thinking. "What we can," he finally says. "There's water in my bag. We have to clean this shit," the bullet hole, he means. "Get some alcohol..."

You nod.

"We need to take the bullet out."

You and Titus are no medical professionals. Your knowledge of how to fix something rather than destroy it is limited, but you've plucked a few bullets out before, mostly from each other's bodies.

You know what to do.

So you leave and grab all the equipment you can find. Some water, some bandages, alcohol (you might have taken a swig or two for yourself because you have no control over your life.) And rush back to the tent.

Titus has moved the man outside. Probably for the best, he was gonna suffocate in there.

When your friend moves his tanktop off of the bullet hole, you can tell it's been a while since its been cleaned. The thing is infected. "He's got a fever. Not much we can do about that. He needs a hospital." But there aren't any in Martinaise. Not for a long while anyway. You need to drive there and neither of you have a car.

Medicine is expensive as fuck too, you doubt this man can afford it.

Regardless, Titus does what he can to tend to the wound before attempting to take the bullet out.

The wound is sealed with a thread and then you can only hope for luck.

You hand the bottle of water to the little boy, watching in fear as you attempt to save his father's life. He immediately rushes to give the water to the older man.

Just like the little boy, the father is painfully thin. You can see his ribcage. It's almost frightening. He's gonna need more than just water to get his strength back.

You're suddenly aware of the eyes around you again, peering in from the abandoned torn down buildings and small tents.

This part of the district lives in the hallow shadows of Martinaise, a grim and vile sickness plagues the core of her body. Poverty is harsher, the people are outcasts.

Their gazes don't go unnoticed. Titus is feeling the weight of it on his shoulders.

He gets up and cleans his hands on his pants, smearing blood and sweat on them. "There's not much we can do here," he says to the woman so she could tell the boy. "He has to find a way to a hospital."

"What about that place you took me to back when..."

A haunting memory. It can't hurt you. But somehow you feel its grip.

Luckily, you don't have to say more. Titus understands.

"It'll be hard to move him."

The distance, plus risking hurting him. It was near impossible.

You and Titus can take turns carrying the man on your backs but even then...

"Come on, help me get him up on my back." Your friend kneels down, together, you help the poor old man onto Titus's back. You won't make it before sun-down. "We'll take it from here, ma'am." He nods at the woman.

"Most people would have left the man to die. You're good folks," she says. "Martinaise really needs more people like you."

Titus grins. He lives on this feeling of great importance. It's a good high to be on.

Your journey begins. The road ahead is long. While Titus is doing the lifting, you're tasked with babysitting the man's little boy, you don't want him wandering off in the wrong parts of Martinaise.

Oh, the price of being a good citizen.

You run, and you don't stop even as the sun above takes off to make home for the moon. The Orange skies turn dark purple and blue. The boy gets exhausted so you carry him on your shoulders. He's talking about things unknown to you.

With what little money you have in your pockets, you grab some food to share with the little boy and his father.

You have to camp overnight or keep going without sleep. Of course, it's better to camp. The boy is already yawning and falling asleep on your shoulders.

Shit. You're not really equipped for this.

You and Titus end up sleeping under a tree. His head on your shoulder, your head on top of his.

You dream about that day your father almost beat you to death... And you wonder how Titus managed to carry you to safety all by himself. It astounds you just how much he cares sometimes.

He's a man with a big heart, you always knew that. But to think... that there's a room built just for you in there.

A smile tugs on your lips.

Suddenly you think, this isn't so bad. You'll travel to the end of the world with him if he asked you to. For him, you'll fight every demon in hell.

For him, anything.


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: NSFW

**Chapter 14**

"That's our good deed for the day." Titus says as he claps his hands together. You finally completed your journey and it's time take that long road back to the heart of Martinaise. At least this time it's just you and Titus. You don't mind that. 

"You think he'll make it?" You ask as you shove your hands in your pockets. Your hair and your jacket keep the cold from gnawing at your skin, but it still seeps in through your golden locks and the small holes of the fabric of your clothes. 

"Yeah. Sure!" He sounds very optimistic about it. "We've seen people with worse survive."

You nod. 

"Remember the time we helped that guy that got attacked by a dog?" 

You almost hiss at the memory. "Shit, man. Yeah. That was pretty bad."

"Heard that guy is alright now. Even got married."

"What about the guy who got his guts stabbed out?"

That was a pretty bad one. You can't forget the hideous sight of an open wound bleeding out organs and intestines.

"Always thought they just shove everything back in." Titus chuckles. 

"And the guy that had his arm blown off."

"And the fella that got stuck between two old broken down trucks?"

You both shiver. You've seen too much shit in life. 

"Come on," Your friend beckons you to follow him, you do. He stops by a tall tree and starts climbing. "Reckon you can see Martinaise from up there." He looks at the top of the tree.

You wait a bit and let him get further up before following him. The air gets colder the further you move upwards. 

You sit on some sturdy branches on the top of the tree and watch the world in the horizon. Titus leans back against the tree and puts his hands behind his head, his leg swings back and forth merrily with the wind. 

The silence is peaceful. You could really use a cig and a bottle of beer right now. Your eyes dart up to look at the older man above, he's looking off at something in the distance, enjoying the view. 

As if he noticed you staring, he looks down. There's an undeniable spark when your eyes meet. He smiles. Even after all these years, you still love the way his eyes smile with his lips, the way they narrow, and his crow's feet. 

Curse his natural charm. 

"I'm glad we did that, bud," He looks up at the sky, his feet move to a beat only audible in his head. "Like that pretty lady said, Martinase don't got enough folks like us." 

He sounds very proud. 

You grin. "Yeah. We're like God damn heroes."

"Yeah." He hums. "Maybe we can start a gang."

"A gang?"

"Yep."

"You mean like... to fight crime and shit?"

"Fight crime? What are you? Ten? No. Just to help people out."

"For money?"

"No, you dumbass," he rubs his chin. "Though that would be nice."

The people of Martinaise are really just making it by day to day, you doubt they have the expenses to pay anyone to save them. Besides, it's a scumbag move. 

Titus knows that. You know that. 

But really, it would be nice to have a crew to help the people when they're down. 

"What day is it today?"

You shrug. 

"Ah fuck."

He starts climbing down, leaving you confused. Regardless, you follow him. 

"Promised the lads I'd be at their party Saturday." 

You hop down, your feet leave a cloud of dust as you land. "Party?"

"Yeah," He grips you by the arms. "Booze, drugs, women!'

You like booze, drugs, and women (exactly in this order.)

"You wanna come along?"

"Oh, fuck yeah!"

"Then we better make it home by then." He laughs as he runs off. You chase after him. Your voices echo through the empty streets, and it mixes in with the stomping of your shoes and the melting snow. You feel like a child again, ten years old, running after Titus by the lake, playing tag. 

When you're close enough to him, you tackle him down. You roll on the floor, bouncing on the ground until your bodies come to a halt. 

You try to squeeze in a few breaths between your laughter but it becomes harder when he rolls on top of you, his hand in your hair messes with the golden locks and causes them to stick out randomly. Then there's mud on your face. His fists, full of dirt, rubbing against your skin. You shake your head and try to push him off.

He stops. You're breathing heavily, he's breathing heavily. The silence extends between you as you both try to get air back into your lungs. 

Then his hazel eyes swim in yours. 

You realize your hands are on his hips. 

Things are suddenly very awkward. 

He says nothing, and you say nothing. For the first time in a while, you feel the beast reawaken in you. The sinful desire to run your hands up his lean hips, pull him down... remind yourself of what his lips taste like. 

You're still in love with him. No matter what lies you feed to yourself, you can't escape the fact that you're in love with him. 

You have to live with it. 

"We better get goin' if we wanna make it back before sundown."

"Yeah." He says. You may be imagining it but he sounds... disappointed. 

The walk is heavy with uneasy silence for a while but it doesn't take long for you to fall back into your regular rhythm. 

"Check that out," Titus points at something in the distance then jogs over to whatever it is. You run after him. He's kneeling next to a bag. Inside the bag, you can see some guns, some bloodied clothes, and cash. 

"Man, we should grab this." You say with great excitement. 

"You nuts? What part of this doesn't scream bad news to you? Some poor fucker is probably dead."

"Yeah? So? He won't be needin' this shit." 

He glares at you. 

You're lucky he loves you regardless of how dumb you can be sometimes. 

"We should get rid of the guns, whoever threw them here might come back for 'em. Can't let 'em shoot anyone else." 

"I'll take 'em!"

"You got enough guns," Titus checks the guns to see if they're loaded, empties them, then throws the guns one after the other against the tree with so much force that you see the veins in his neck. He does it, again and again, a few times until the guns break. He puts all the broken pieces back into the bag and you continue walking down the road for a while. 

"What are we gonna do with 'em?"

"Bury 'em"

Your eyes widen. "And the money?"

"Bury it with the guns."

"I don't understand. Why don't we just take it? It ain't gonna be useful buried in the ground."

"We don't steal from folks, Glenny."

"Yeah, but..."

"We don't steal, Glen." He says again, more stern, far more serious. His voice almost sounds cold. 

You nod. 

It's like there's a spell when he talks that way. It's dripping with authority, and who are you to disobey? Besides, you know he's just looking out for you. The two of you are far from heaven's angels. But at least you're also far from being demons of hell as well. You're simply human. 

"We can bury it here. Come on, help me out."

You dig with your hands, and you don't stop until the white dirt turns dark brown, and then you go deeper. The dirt sticks under your nails but you don't really give a fuck. You bury the bag and then go off on your way. 

"It's a good thing we did," he nods to himself. "I'm proud of you, Glenny."

You grin, an actual big dorky grin. It's stupid but those words mean a lot to you. 

"Yeah, yeah." You try to wave them off as something casual. 

He nudges you playfully. You push him back. The two of you chuckle. 

This is better than money. 

After a while of walking, you begin to see a trail of blood in the snow. You and Titus exchange glances and decide to follow it to a dying man under a tree. The man is around your age. Young, reckless, stupid. He's bleeding pools of blood under him. Titus kneels down to take a better look at him. The man looks ghostly. He'll die before you'll be able to take him back to the "clinic"

The man looks at something next to him, you follow his eyes to a gun. He's asking for mercy, an end to his pain. He's too weak to end his own life. 

Titus gets up and looks at you. "What do you think?"

You glance at the man then back at Titus. "He robbed someone, killed them maybe. "

Titus's attention shifts back to the man. "Did you rob someone?" The man blinks.... yes. "Did you kill 'em?" Another blink. Titus rubs his chin. 

The man's eyes fall on a small pocket stitched to his shirt. You check it and find a photo. It's a woman on an old bed. She looks sick but smiling regardless. You show Titus the photo. 

"Is this your wife?" 

Blink.

"She sick?"

Blink.

He sighs and rubs the side of his head. "Shit." 

It's awful, but Titus has more empathy than you do. He feels bad for the man, for his lover who he will now leave behind. It's a fucked up situation but you see Titus reach for the gun. He's going to do it. 

"Wait!" You take the gun from him. "I'll do it."

He doesn't appreciate you doing that. 

"I know how to fire a gun, Glen."

"But you've never killed anyone before. I have. I'm already a killer." 

It's quiet for a moment. Perhaps Titus is thinking back on your gruesome murder. He shakes his head. "I can't let you do this."

"And I won't let you do it."

He's afraid; afraid of adding another number of murders to your resume, afraid of what it'll do to you in the long run. But you'll endure. You'll live with these ghosts as long as he doesn't have to. You look at him, eyes pleading. You'll do it. 

He sighs and lets you have the gun. 

You point the gun towards the man. He does not look scared of the end, or perhaps he's too tired to be scared. Regardless, you move the hammer back and pull the trigger. His death is instant. The bullet goes through his skull, and his head springs up from the force of the hit, his eyes open wide, staring at the sky and the tree leaves above. It's somewhat peaceful. 

"Fuck, man." Titus says under his breath.

You put the gun in the back of your pants and cover it with your jacket. It's hard to just walk away but you and Titus force yourselves to drag your heavy feet away from the scene. 

"You think this woman has anyone else lookin' after her?"

He's staring at the photo of the woman. You're glad he's got enough empathy for the both of you because that hasn't even crossed your mind.

"Probably not."

"We should find her."

You snort. "How the fuck we supposed to do that?" 

"Ask around. See if anyone knows anything." 

He's very serious about this, you can tell, and when Titus Hardie is serious about something, there's no talking him out of it. You sigh. 

"Alright. We'll ask the folks on our way back."

And ask you did. Whenever you come across another person on your journey back, Titus would show them the picture and ask if anyone knew anything about the woman or her whereabouts. 

"That's poor lil Jenny." An old woman says. 

"You know where she lives? If she has any relatives?"

"Her boyfriend, Pierre. He visits her often. Good man. She lives up that hill," She points west. "Her house has beautiful flowers around it. You can't miss it. I heard she grew them herself before she got too sick."

Titus tips his hat. "Thanks, ma'am"

You follow the old lady's instructions up the hill to a house with withered flowers. That's not a good sign. You knock on the door. No one answers. 

You wait... and wait. Then finally, an elderly woman, possibly in her late fifties opens the door. 

"Yes?"

Titus shows her the photo. "Is this Jenny?"

The woman looks at the photo then at the two of you. "Where did you get this?"

"From her boyfriend."

"Are you friends with Pierre? Where is he?"

You don't say anything, you let Titus do the talking. He's better at it than you anyway. You simply provide support.

Titus takes off his hat and holds it close to his chest. "I'm afraid Pierre got caught in a crossfire, ma'am."

She gasps and puts her hands over her chest. "Is he alright?"

"He's dead. But he wanted us to make sure Jenny will be fine. Good fella. It's fucked but what can you do."

"Oh..." the woman looks like she was on the verge of tears but held herself together. "Thank you. She..." a pause as the woman tries to collect herself. "Jenny will be devastated... But better she knows than wonder where her beloved Pierre is..." She nods. "He was a good man. Loved her very dearly."

"I'm sorry for your loss." 

"Thank you."

"You take care now." He puts his cap back on and then you're finally allowed to leave.

"Poor gal."

You nod. "Yeah. Big shame."

"I kept thinkin', you know? If I would do the same for my ma or my brother, or you."

"I'd do it for you. If robbin' someone was the only way I could get money to save you. I'll do it." You would, no hesitation. You'll gun down as many people as you need if it means he gets to live and if you died then fuck it. It's messed up but it is what it is.

He wraps an arm around you and pulls you close. "Thanks, Glenny. You're a good friend. Best there is." 

You make it back to Martinaise by sundown, you borrow some decent clothes from Titus to wear to the party and then you're off.

By the time you get there, the music is already blasting, people are hammered, women and men are exchanging spit around every corner, and dudes are doing cannonballs in the pool. Shady fellows walk past you and you see the shine of their guns around their belts. Good thing you're packing too. 

You don't recognize most the people. The only people you do know are ‘your’ rugby teammates. Speaking of which, one of them is coming to greet you, two beers in hand. 

“T and Goldie locks! You fuckin’ missed it, man.” He rubs his nose. You can tell he’s on some sort of drug.

“Easy there. What did we miss?”

“Strip poker.”

“Really?”

He nods.

“Well, I think I’ve seen enough of your dicks in the locker room so that ain’t missin’ much really.”

“We’re talking ladies, T!” He shoves the beers into your hands then proceeds to take a hold of some invisible tits. “It was fuckin’ hardcore.”

“Aha. Sure.” Your buddy takes a long drink of beer, emptying the bottle in one go. You take a couple of sips.

“Anyway, make yourselves comfortable. Look up some skirts, grab some drinks, and have fun, boys. I’m gonna,” he pauses, as though he’s forgotten what he was going to say next. “I got some place to be if I can just remember where it is.” and then he was gone. 

“Fuckin’ psycho.” Titus chuckles, he means it in a friendly way. With a nod of his head, he gestures for you to follow him. Time to check out the babes and the booze. 

You think most the people here know Titus from school or college, they greet him, he waves at them, you’re the awkward third wheel. Wait till you get some more beer or some drugs in you, then you’ll be a real party monster!

Two women pass you by giggling and chatting about who knows what, probably some lady stuff. You watch as Titus follows them with his eyes and smiles to himself at the sight of their backsides, their hips swaying side to side to the rhythm of his heart. 

What a sight.

“Want the one the left or the right?”

You don’t really care. Pussy is pussy. 

“You know what, we can get the both of ‘em. Foursome.”

Ah shit. What if your dick does the thing where it just doesn’t get solid? Awkward. 

“First, some beers though. A man can’t fuck on an empty stomach.”

Phew. Saved by the booze. 

You go inside the house, it’s defiantly one of the better looking houses in Martinaise, by that, I mean it’s pretty standard but nothing is falling apart or decaying. You don’t remember the last time you’ve been in a house like this. Is that what a sports scholarship does? You almost regret not going to school, almost, but not really. 

The fridge is stacked with beers of all types and different flavors. You grab a bottle, Titus does the same. The two of you lean against the kitchen counter and have your drinks at your own pace, meanwhile, Titus is eagle eyeing the people in the room. Scanning for girls to bang? Possibly. Maybe he’s looking for familiar faces.

“What do you think?”

You take a quick swig of your drink then look around but nothing in particular catches your eye. “Of what?” You finally give up and ask.

“The place.” He turns around so his back is pressed against the counter. “Think we’ll ever afford some place like this someday?”

You shrug. “When we’re big rugby stars. Yeah”

He grins. “Parties every day.”

You nod. “For fuckin’ sure.”

He raises his bottle. “To our dreams.” You smile and let the mouths of your beer bottles kiss before downing the last bit of your drinks.

In the next room, music blasts the roof off the house. You make your way there and there are tons of people dancing in ever-changing lights. Titus pulls you among the crowd. 

Ah, fuck.

You danced before, you danced dozens of times with him. He leads, and boy, does he lead. Your bodies work like magnets, pulling close, moving away, dancing in opposite rhythms. It gets easier to forget there are people around you, dancing to the same song. You hop and you sway and twirl Titus with a flick of your wrist. It’s energetic, it’s fun. The music drowns out the sound of your laughter but you still see the way he grins, all teeth and heart. 

There’s little space between one song and the next, you’re not sure how long you’ve been dancing but you finally feel exhausted enough to stop. You take well earned break, have a couple more beers, and then chat for a bit before deciding to go on with your little adventure.

The majority of your time was spent walking around, having small talk with folks you don’t know but Titus would introduce you to them. When you’re not chit-chatting, you’re scouting for girls, and damn, some of these women look way more mature for their age (that just means they got ass and boobs for days) 

You get approached by some of them, they sweet talk you and butter you up. You fake interest because for the life of you, you can’t feel a thing for any of them. Your dick is most certainly broken. It doesn’t go past a few flirty comments but Titus gets swept away by one blonde woman, hourglass body, eyes like the sky, and lips made for sucking cock. She’s way out of your league. 

Anyway, Titus is gone to get his rocks off. You’re on your own in a house full of strangers. What will you do?

You wander because it’s better than standing there and looking weird and out of place. You end up outside where you almost get into a fight with a guy who was drunk and waving a water hose around, but the "fight" ends when you tell him you're gonna strangle him with the hose, shove its opening down his throat, and fill him with water till he explodes. 

After that, you have a smoke. A few people, who recognized you as the guy who follows Titus around, walk up to you for some small talk, but you're not really good around strangers. You hold up until you finish the cigarette and then you toss it in the bush, almost setting the grass on fire, but luckily, you're able to stomp it out before it got too big. The people look at you... it's awkward. Time to go back inside. 

You go back to the kitchen for more beer. You grab a can and crack it open. When you turn around, you see someone across the room, looking at you. A guy; tall, but not taller than yourself. He’s definitely not a rugby player, but he’s not slim either. His shoulders are broad and masculine, his face is diamond shaped, with sharp cheekbones. His jaw is dotted with a day's old stubble. Blonde hair that's brighter than your own, short, slightly spiked. Green eyes, greener than any field in Martinaise. They’re downturned but not narrow, not like Titus’s heavy, almost lazy looking, hooded eyes. His skin is tanned, a beautiful light brown, sun-kissed from playing sports no doubt.

You take a sip of your drink, he doesn’t look away. It makes you…

It makes you… angry?

You’re not sure. But you surely feel some kind of way. 

His lips tug into a smile. Your expression remains unchanged. 

Another swig of your drink, and another, and before you know it, it’s all gone. You crush the can in your hand as you look at the man across the room, you’re not sure if that’s a threat or an invitation. Regardless, he seems to be interested. 

Is he high or something?

You should go there and see what’s up with him. It’s not like you got anything better to do. 

You approach the man and he seems excited that you did. 

“Hey,” He says. His voice is rougher than you expected. The pack of cigarettes he pulls out of his pocket is probably why. “Cig?”

“Yeah.”

He hands you one then lights it for you then does the same to his own.

“You from the team?”

“Mhm. Kinda.”

“Kinda? You a bench boy?”

You glare at him. “Prop.”

He hums. “A strong man then.”

You open your arms and give him a view of your muscles.”The fuck you think these are for?”

He takes a drag of his cigarette and then studies your figure. “Not for looking pretty?”

“You wanna test that?”

“Maybe.” 

…oh

Oh shit. 

He grins. The look in his eyes is playful, inviting. Suddenly your dick is awake and screaming.

“Wanna take a walk, tough guy?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He walks, and you follow him like a slave to temptation. 

“Nice moves on the dance floor, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“Not a lot of people have the guts to dance away with their boyfriends in public.”

You almost choke on the smoke filling your lungs, it makes you cough several times. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Mhm.” The man lets out a cloud that vanishes into the air. 

“That’s my friend,” you pause and then add. “My best friend.”

He hisses then laughs. “Friendzoned, huh?”

What the fuck does that even mean?

“You look cute together.”

“Fuck you!”

“I mean if you want. But I don’t want your friend to get jealous.” He chuckles.

You should really stop saying 'fuck you' to other guys, they’re really taking it literally.

“Relax, I’m just pulling your leg.”

You’re not sure why you don’t just knock this fucker out and head back to the party. 

“What’s your name, by the way?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.” Old habits die hard with you. 

He doesn’t seem to take offense to that. 

“Where are we goin’ anyway?”

“Maybe that’s none of your fucking business,” he puts out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe. “But if you’re worried, I thought we could just take a walk, maybe go back to my place and have a real drink.”

He’s making a move on you, Glenna-Boy. Do you even understand that?

Turn back right now, your brain screams at you to turn back right now, but your dick power is stronger. You keep going. 

Holy shit, you let a man talk you back to his place. You just got picked up, like a damn chick at a bar. Fuck, Glenny. You’re slipping. Oh well, you’re still getting laid.

So what? You’re just accepting this now? Those horny hormones are really strong, huh?

You know what this means, right?

His place is clearly built for one, it reminds you of your shack but cozier, better. An actual home. 

You sit at the small round table while he gets you some whiskey.

You take a shot. He takes a shot. He pours another.

“You’re not tryin’a get me wasted, are you?”

“Just say stop if you don’t want it.”

You drink another shot. It’s a lot stronger than beer and burns your throat. 

Do you want him to keep going?

He’s waiting for your answer.

Your ocean eyes meet his grassy lands, the bottle in his hand is tilted. He’s hoping you’ll stay.

You reach out and grab the bottle from his hand. Fucking drink it all, the beast in you says. Lap every bit of it up until you can’t tell the difference between the taste of his skin and the whiskey on your tongue. 

Oh, the hunger raises, all so familiar, so vicious, so repressed. 

“Want another shot?” The rumble in your voice tells you you’ve already lost yourself to the monster. You can’t bring yourself to care.

“Mhm.” 

And it’s all you need to hear before you put the bottle down and lunge at him, lips clashing, all tongue and teeth. Hungry for sex. 

He takes your clothes off, you rip his off. Your teeth latch on to his skin, leaving bite marks on his well-toned body. His nails dig into your back, scratching, wanting. 

Shoes off, pants gone, you roll on the floor naked. He fights to flip you over, you fight to stay on top. He's strong but you're stronger. 

Your lips meet again, you slam him against the wall. Your bare bodies slide against one another, cocks rubbing, making you both moan. 

You roll your hips to meet his dry thrusts, both of you already rock hard. 

His ass is firm in your hands. You love the feeling of it against your nails as you knead and part his cheeks. Your fingers teasingly brushing against his hole. 

It's yours, and you're gonna fuck the ever loving fuck out of it. 

When you part, he looks down for a moment, grabbing your cock And giving it a few strokes. "Oh that's a big boy," He says delightfully. "You're a real monster huh?" 

If only he knew. If you lacked self-control, you'd already be fucking him over every surface in the room. But he's not talking about THAT monster. 

"Look at it, like it's made to give guys a good time," his grin is wide. He's very eager to have you. "Lucky me." You can't help but feel proud. His compliments are as good at stroking your ego as he is at stroking your dick.

He kneels down, tracing your body as he does, and wastes no time in taking your cock into his mouth. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. It feels so fucking good. Wet, warm cavern of saliva engulfing you.

Steady breaths. You hear him slurping as he sucks. When you lower your head to look at him, it's a heavenly sight. He's so fucking eager for your cock. 

You slap him a few times, not too hard, but the sound of each smack still echoes in the room. He hums. The little bitch likes it. 

You smirk and grab fists full of his hair, forcing him to swallow all of you. He makes gagging noises and you feel the saliva pool in his mouth, coating your throbbing dick. 

"Good boy," your voice is so heavy with lust that it's almost alien to your own ears. "Take that dick."

He happily obliges. 

You like this, having control. Telling someone to take your dick. 

The man's tongue twirls around your length, lapping at the tip, sucking hard. You control his pace, moving him back and forth by his head. Watching your cock disappear between his pretty little lips is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. Forget pussy and boobs. This is where it's at. 

You hear the man moan beneath you, and you can see him pleasuring himself, his free hand going up and down his manhood. You take in the sight, and the beast tells you it's for you. He's pleasuring himself for you. Because he wants you. 

Fuck, it feels good. 

He lets your cock slip out from in between his lips so he could lick the side, his tongue runs across the veins, from base to tip, and from tip to base. He lifts his eyes and your gazes meet. His lips curl into a smile and you almost let go right there, all over his face, but you keep it together somehow. Must be the alcohol. 

He runs his tongue across his lips to let you know he enjoyed his meal but he's ready for the main course now. 

You're too fucking gone to even try to make it to the bed. He pulls you down and gets on top of you, lowering himself onto your cock. His spit makes it easier for your length to slide in and holy shit it feels amazing to feel his heat engulf you. 

You place your hand on his hips and thrust upwards, shoving yourself balls deep into him. He gasps, his nails dig into your shoulders. 

"Oh fuck." It leaves his lips as a hiss. You give him time to adjust and then he begins his dance. 

"That's a good boy," you call him again, with your hands on his hips, you control the pace, and you arch your back to meet every push downwards. "That's it." You move your hands to his ass, taking a fist full of each cheek before giving his right one a hard smack. He responds with a moan. Another smack, another moan. Your hands leave a red mark on his skin. 

He goes down on you fast and hard, you feel your cock slam into him with each thrust, deep, drawing out sinful noises from him. You part his cheeks, giving your cock easier access to his hole. 

"You like that?" It wasn't really a question because you immediately follow it up with. "I bet you do, you little pussy-boy."

He whimpers, his desire is clear in the way he fucks himself on your manhood. 

You tease the tip of his cock as it bounces up and down, your finger lightly tracing the slit leaking pre-cum making him thrust up, trying to fuck himself on both your hand and your dick. 

So needy. You wouldn't think a man this size would be such a slut. When you put your pre-cum stained fingers to his lips, he eagerly laps up the taste. Sucking on your fingers clean. You draw your fingers away, spit still connecting them to his lips. He sticks his tongue out. He wants you to taste him. 

You do. Your tongues dance together, twirling and rubbing together. He tastes like whiskey and salt. He tastes manly, and you love it. 

You wrap your arms around him and lower him to the ground before pulling out, he gasps at the sudden loss of contact. His hole pulses. It hasn't had enough. 

You smack your cock against his entrance a few times and watch as it desperately tries to be filled by you again. You rut against him, dick rubbing against the pink flesh. He's biting his lips, trying to keep himself from pleading.

"You want this cock?"

He looks at you, his eyes beg but that's not enough for you. 

"I said, do you want this cock?"

He nods.

"Say it."

He hesitates. You tease his hole again, and again, rubbing the head of your cock against his ass but never pushing in. His toes curl and he finally gives in.

"Please!"

"Please what?" You smirk

"Please, fuck me!"

You push the tip in.

"Fuck me!" He says louder. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" Again and again. You are his god. He worships your cock and you answer his prayer. 

You ram into him, his walls welcome you once more. 

"Oh fuck yes!"

Yes  
Yes  
Yes, he yells with every thrust. 

Yes, as he moves back against you.  
Yes, as your cock hits the bundle of nerves that sends him screaming.  
Yes, he begs. Yes, he cries. Yes, yes, yes.

You bite down on the skin of his shoulders and growl like a wild animal. His hands clutch your golden hair. You're tangled in one another, and though you're so close to him, you still want to go deeper, harder. 

He's so close  
You're so close. 

You taste blood on your tongue. You're biting too hard but he doesn't seem to care. The only thing he's screaming out is, "I'm gonna cum."

You want him to cum, you want him to enjoy every bit of his high while he erupts for you. You wish he could scream your name. 

A few more thrusts and he's spilling sticky white jizz across his stomach, wave after fucking delicious wave. His walls tighten and they milk you dry. You feel yourself emptying inside him until the cum leaks from his hole. The high is addictive, you almost don't want to come down. 

You release his abused skin from in between your fangs. It's already bruising. When you pull out, You see the trail of cum dripping down his legs and onto the floor.

"That was so fucking good, shit man. You go hard," He sounds tired, almost in a dream-like state. "You seem like the type that's into some real kinky shit. Maybe next time you can tie me up and fuck me." A laugh, it fades into the air.

Next time? You doubt there will be a next time. One night stands rules are pretty simple. They're a one night deal. 

This was fun though. You might just take him up on that offer. Experiment, explore. But...

"Go to bed." You get up and look for a towel to clean yourself. 

"You're not staying?"

"I gotta get back. My friend is probably waitin' on me." 

"Ah... of course." He sounds disappointed. 

You ignore it and stomp towards him. "If you tell one," you put a finger up. "Just one fuckin' soul knows about this. I will shove my gun up your ass and pull the trigger. Do you understand?"

"My lips are sealed."

"They fuckin' better be." 

"How am I gonna keep in touch with you?"

You put your clothes back on and hide your gun under your jacket. "I know where you live."

"Well, that's hardly fair."

"Shame, ain't it."

He sighs, defeated. "Fine. Knock three times and I'll know it's you." 

"Dandy." 

And that was it. You now have a fuck buddy. 

You take one last shot of whiskey and then leave back to the party, which is still swinging in full power with no signs of slowing any time soon. 

It takes you a while to find Titus in the crowd of people but you find him with a long pipe in his mouth connected to some sort of cone and two guys pouring beer down the pipe. "Chug, chug, chug!" The crowd chants and he drinks the whole thing. 

The crowd cheers. He's going to be so fucking hammered after this.

"Glenny! Where the fuck have you been? I thought you went home or somethin'."

You smirk at him, full of cocky confidence. "Where do you think I was? Gettin' my dick sucked of course," Full stop. He doesn't need to know more than that. "Now come on, it's gettin' late." 

It must be past midnight. You got work in the morning... Fuck. You're not looking forward to doing your job while also being in the company of what might be the world's most crushing headache. 

Luckily Titus doesn't argue and the two of you say goodnight and leave. 

"Was that fun or what?!" 

It was certainly something, you think. But you're too tired to think about it now. 

"Wanna stay over?"

He nods. "Hangover gonna be like a bad bitch tomorrow. Shouldn't let Tibbs and mom deal with me." Titus will have the shack to himself in the morning anyway while you're off at work. He can throw up in the toilet as much as he wants. 

By the time you arrive at the shack, you're already exhausted. You fall on the couch and Titus takes the bed. Tomorrow, your brain will have at you, and I'm not talking just the hangover. 

You pray for a miracle and think about your sins until you can no longer think. Even when you're tired, your brain still finds a way to fuck you over. 

Only when you exhaust it does it finally let you fall into the sweet embrace of pure nothingness, and slumber takes over you. 

You're not looking forward to waking up tomorrow. 


	16. Concepts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art by me @hardie_boi on Twitter

Oh hey. So you made it this far. If you're a new reader, welcome. I hope you're enjoying the story so far. There's more fun to be had! If you're a returning reader, hello! Thank you for sticking around. We really appreciate your support!

No story this week, Flam is taking a break and I'm just an artist. The only story I can provide is through my art so I bring you some art.

These are concepts for Memento Mori 

**Titus Hardie**

**Glen Dixon**

****

****

**Sadly I can't upload them in full quality but stay tuned! I'm working on a massive index that has a collection of all the art made for this story by me and by others and it's got +100 pieces (including some of our other works as well)**

See you next week when Flam returns!


	17. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. No update last week and oof it was hard to work this week too since I'm working on one of the prompts for Discotober. Might need an actual break soon. RIP.

**Chapter 15**

"So when do I get to see your place?"

"We just fuck. Why do you wanna see my place?"

"Maybe I wanna fuck at your place for a change. Maybe I wanna get to know the guy I'm fucking."

"That ain't important."

"I don't even know your name."

"Ain't important."

"What are you afraid of?"

You put the cigarette between your lips and light it. Your partner shifts in the bed next to you, hand under his head, he's staring at you... admiring you. You're not used to seeing someone look at you that way. The thought of this becoming a regular thing terrifies you.

What if you started wanting more than just sex? What if you woke up one day and thought you want something with this person. Something you know you shouldn't have and shouldn't want.

Oh, Glenny. You're making daddy very angry.

You can feel him, staring at you from the depths of hell. There will be a reckoning when you get there.

The man next to you shifts again, rolling on top of you. His hands rest on your hairy scarred chest. He has a few scars of his own. The most notable one stretches from his shoulder to his chest.

He plays with your hair, his strong rough fingers are silk compared to you. Maybe he's trying to know you in the ways you have accessible to him. Your body.

His hands on your body feel wrong when you're not in the heat of things. No man should touch another man with this much love. You almost question his intentions but what could he possibly want from you?

He leans down and presses his lips to yours, and it's a soft slow kiss. You've not tasted him this way before. All love, no tongues, no teeth, no blood.

You remember when you kissed Titus. How strangely soft his lips were. You could rest your lips against his for eternity and taste him until you overdose.

This was a different experience. It did not feel as intimate, but you still enjoy the tenderness of it.

... you're letting him in. You can't let him in.

You dig your claws into his hips and roll over, pinning him to the bed beneath you. The cigarette in your fingers is dangerously close to setting fire to the sheets.

"The fuck do you think you're doin'?"

"Kissing you?"

"Don't."

He rolls his eyes. "Why not? I kissed you before and you weren't a punk-ass-bitch about it."

Your fingers wrap around his neck. It's a warning. He shouldn't disrespect you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

A lot, really. But he doesn't need to know any of that. You bring the cigarette back to your lips but keep your other hand around his throat, and you watch his expression carefully.

There's anger, mixed in with fear, and a little bit of amusement. You exhale, letting the smoke abstract his face. He coughs, you feel his Adam's apple bob against the palm of your hand.

You've not seen him angry before. It's interesting, almost enticing. It makes you feel something, like you want to put the cigarette out on his cheek just to see how he'll react.

And maybe he caught on to this because he's struggling under you, clawing at your hand and your face. It only makes you tighten your grip on his neck, now effectively cutting off his air, but you continue your smoke regardless, and let him squirm.

When you're done with the cigarette, you put it out over the headboard and flick its remains somewhere unknown, only then do you release the man from your grip.

He immediately attacks you. His punch is heavier than you expected and leaves your lip bleeding.

The bed creaks with your combined weight as you toss and roll and fight. One punch from you, another from him. He kicks and bites and scratches at you, and you rain fury down on him till you're not sure if the blood on the pillows is yours or his. You slam him against the headboard and he elbows you in the stomach. You bring his hands behind his back and grip his wrists in one hand, with your other, you push his face down to the pillow, and pin him with your size. His ass is pressed against you and you suddenly hear him laugh.

"Oh. So that's what you're into, huh? Knew you were one of those weird kinky types." He grinds himself against you. Shit. You weren't expecting a second round of sex but hey. Sometimes life gives you gifts and it's rude not to accept.

You sink your teeth into the skin of his shoulder hard enough to make him yell, and you're suddenly filled with the curious desire to know just how far he's willing to let you go.

You flip him over, there's a trail of red from his nose to the side of his face, and a small cut on his cheek, above his cheekbones.

The grin on his face reminds you of Titus when he wins a fight. It's that same shit-eating grin that you hate so much. You punch him square in the face, his head falls back and the knock is softened by the pillow.

"Wanna do that again?" He says and licks the blood from his lips.

You're not sure it's a question.

"We're gonna have to set some rules if you are."

You scowl. You don't like rules. Then again, they are here to keep you from beating a man to death.

"Rule 1,” He puts up a finger, you threaten to bite it, he moves it away and flicks your nose then proceeds, "no means no. Do you understand that?"

A mighty huff of air comes from your nose "Of course I do."

He nods, his expression is the most serious it's ever been since the day you've started fucking.

"Rule 2, if things go too far, we're allowed to change our minds and stop, that goes both ways."

You doubt things can go too far for you but you say yes regardless.

"Rule 3, safety. You bring a knife to bed, you tell me. You bring a gun, a whip, or even a fucking rope, you say so. None of that blindfold shit."

You don't even care about blindfolding anyone so whatever.

"Rule 4, we should have a safeword that either of us can use to make the other stop."

"Okay, what's the safeword?"

He thinks for a bit then goes, "Pinball."

"Pinball?"

He nods. "Pinball."

You shrug. It's not like either of you are gonna shout 'pinball' during sex so the safeword should be effective.

"Any rules you wanna add?"

"I don't know, as long as we don't kill each other I guess."

He chuckles. "You're really something else, Blondie."

You actually don’t end up banging for the second time that night, even though you were totally ready for it. You have a couple of drinks and he tells you more about himself. His name is Kurt, he plays football. Used to be a gang’s kid. “Real shitty times,” he says. “But when I was a kid I thought it was pretty cool. Thought I was tough shit. You ever been in a gang?”

You take a sip of your drink. “No.” Titus saved you from that. You’re grateful for it.

“You know what made me leave?”

You shrug.

“When I was sixteen, I saw the older dudes in the gang beat a guy to death. They said he looked queer. I thought, fuck, what if they knew I masturbate to men? Not to mention, they also kicked a dog once. Fucking broke its leg. Like I said, it was pretty shitty.”

Martinaise isn’t really kind to queers. You heard there was some “Homosexual underground” thing but why would you care about that?

“So when did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That you like men.”

It’s an uncomfortable question. You’re not sure. Was it the day you met Titus? Was it puberty? Is this all just a phase? You're not sure. Perhaps you've spent too long thinking about it because you miss the look in Kurt's eyes that says 'I understand.'

“Still figuring it out, huh?” He takes a drag of his cigarette. “Maybe you should let me top sometimes, see how you like it. You might have an epiphany."

You have no fucking clue what the word 'epiphany' means. Fucking educated assholes using big words.

“No.”

He huffs out the smoke. “You know it doesn’t mean anything, right? It’s not like I’m the bitch and you’re the man,” He taps on the cigar, letting the ashes fall on the ashtray. “It doesn’t work like that.” But being a top gives you confirmation, that you’re indeed, not the bitch in the ‘relationship’. It means something to you. It shouldn’t but it does. It means you’re the man, you have the power, and you control the situation (boy, you never heard of power bottoms before and I can tell. Maybe you should have sex with Titus again.) “Look, I get it. It’s tough for you. You’re still in the closet, and it’s all very confusing.”

“What fuckin’ closet?”

“It’s just a term,” he waves his hand. “For being secretly gay,” Then he puts the cigarette back between his lips and inhales. “Anyway. You gotta work it out. It gets very tiring after a while; pretending, putting on this fake mask. Talking about women you’re never gonna fuck just so you’ll fit in with a bunch of drunken guys who won’t remember your name in a few years."

That sounds like a lot. It’s certainly something to think about later.

He blows a circle into the air and then says in a very heavy voice, “Memento Mori. If I’m gonna get killed tomorrow then at least I had a good dick.” He laughs, you can’t help but chuckle too.

Memento Mori. It’s what Titus always tells you too. You’re taking a liking to that phrase.

“You goin’ home or wanna keep my bed warm?” He puts his cigarette out on the ashtray and then shifts his full attention to you.

You finish up your drink while you think of an answer. You have work tomorrow but it shouldn’t matter. Maybe you can stay up till the morning time, take a walk, give him a tour of the lake, finally show him your place…

A part of you thinks that would be nice.

But the other part of you reminds you that Kurt is not your friend, he’s not your lover. He’s just some guy you fuck when you’re feeling horny. You should keep it that way.

“You got any guns?”

He blinks at the sudden random question. “A gun?”

“Yeah.”

“I got one, yeah.”

“You know how to shoot it?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I got a ton in my place. All kinds of guns. I carry one with me, but it ain’t like the ones at home.”

You’re not sure why you’re telling him this. To scare him away? To get a reaction? Is it the booze making you say this?

“How did you get ‘em?”

You shrug.

“You a gun enthusiast or something?”

“Guess you can say that.”

“You sure you weren’t in any gangs?” It’s a joke.

“Sometimes Titus and I just end up in the middle of a crossfire, we take the guns from some dumb kids who don’t know any better. I keep ‘em.”

“Titus? I’m guessing that’s your handsome friend?”

Oh shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Kurt rubs his jaw. “Odd name. Sounds like someone you shouldn’t mess with,” Another pause then. “Titus! I remember now, the rugby guy. Titus Hardie! That’s your best friend?! Shit, man. I watched him play once. He’s a sledgehammer. I don’t remember seeing you around campus though.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m not in your dumb university.”

“What uni are you in then?”

“None.”

“Ah, no shame in that.”

School is for wasting time anyway. You got better shit to do.

“Do you play rugby too?”

“Yep. Prop.”

“No wonder you like being rough.”

You smirk.

“Well Mr. Prop, wanna come to bed?”

Oh. You haven’t answered that.

The answer is pretty simple, your bed at home is made for one, it’s cold and lonely. This bed here is cozy and also morning quickie.

“Sure.”

He seems very happy with your answer. You let Kurt drag you back to bed and push you down the mattress, then he climbs on top of you and leaves a trail of love bites starting from your neck down to your hips. He ducks his head lower and kisses your dick through your boxers before coming up to rest next to you. It’s a simple sign, a simple act of body worship, but it makes it easier for you to lie your head, rest against him, and fall asleep.

When your eyes open the next morning, you're immediately greeted with a head of short light hair. Kurt is tangled in you, you're wrapped in him. Your masculine bodies fit together perfectly. And despite that, you have a hard time accepting the image. He smells like alcohol and sweat but you can also smell the shampoo in his hair. He looks at peace, like a puppy that’s quietly slumbering. Good thing you’re heartless and you don’t mind waking him up while you shift out of bed. You got work to attend after all.

You throw your clothes on and put on your shoes.

“Ah shit, it’s morning already?” You hear from behind you. You don’t bother to turn and look at Kurt. “Fuck, man,” You feel him move under the sheets, and then he kicks you. “Where are you going?”

“I got shit to do.”

“Oh, right. You work or whatever,” a pause then you feel him shift again. “You know something?”

“What?” You really wanna leave. You don’t have time for this.

“It’s stupid and really really gay.”

“Then I don’t wanna hear it.”

He chuckles. “Sometimes I’m worried you’ll walk out that door and never come back. Stupid, right?”

You tilt your head, shocked by what he just said. “Pretty fuckin’ dumb.”

“I guess I just like you.”

You shrug.”How can you like me? You don’t even fuckin’ know me.”

He looks outside through the window. “You should get going. Come back later and we can talk about it, how about that?”

As long as the sex is still good you’ll always come back, so you’re not sure what he’s on about.

“See ya.” He shouts after you as you leave.

You’re a little late for work. But you slip in without getting scolded, and you leave just as such. After work, you meet with your good old friend.

“I passed by your place last night after work and you weren’t there,” Titus says as he throws a stone on the smooth surface of the water with enough force to make it bounce until it lost its momentum. “Waited for a bit, you didn’t show up.”

Shit.

“I was probably takin’ a walk or some shit."

“Can’t sleep?”

“Why were you lookin’ for me so late anyway?”

He shrugs. “Just checkin’ up on my pal.”

“Gettin’ lonely, are we?” You smirk.

He laughs. “Suppose so. How about you? Been missin’ hangin’ out with me till the late nights? Gettin’ wasted, talkin’ tits.”

“Sure do, man.”

“Growin’ up sucks, except the part where we can have sex and drink beer.”

Life is definitely not what you imagined it would be at the age of twenty. You thought at this age you would be swimming in cash and pussy, instead, you’re just a depressed alcoholic who likes men. No superstardom, no cheering crowd as you enter the rugby field, nothing even close to it. But at least you’re alive; you got a job, a friend who would deck god for you, and a fuck buddy, so it could be worse. You could get shot in the spine.

"Oh, dude," Titus slams the palm of his hand against his forehead. "I forgot. Coach wanted to see us tomorrow. Something about gettin' back into the game."

You freeze for a moment.

"Gettin' back into the game?"

"You heard me right."

"That's fuckin' great news! Holy shit!" Actually, it's the best news you've heard in a while.

"Don't get too excited now. Might just be nothin' just fillin' in for some other guys or somethin'."

You don't care as long as you finally get to play again, like for real. Not practice.

He throws another stone, you echo his movement.

"Also, some folks said you were pretty weird durin' the party a few weeks ago. I said 'Glen bein' weird? That's just him bein' himself'. " He chuckles.

"Weird how?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, man. Somethin' about gettin' into a fight, that's whatever. You get into fights all the time. Also, somethin' about you startin' up a fire?"

"Was just havin' a smoke."

"And gettin' laid, right." He rubs his jaw as if he's trying to remember the details of that night.

You did say something about getting your dick sucked, didn't you?

"Yep."

"Who was she? I probably know her."

God damn it.

You shrug. "Don't remember much, had a lot to drink."

"I know that feeling, man."

Another pair of stones find their way to the bottom of the lake.

"I hope you had fun at least."

You nod. "Free drinks and sex? You kiddin'? It was a great time."

"Well, there will be more where that came from. We gotta throw our own party someday."

You always did say this shack would be for parties. You didn't expect it to be your permanent home... you didn't expect killing your old man either. Actually, scratch that. You always knew you would kill your old man, just not that it would end up with you living in a shack next to a lake, which sounds great... But it's only kind of cool.

You and Titus end up wasting time doing some workouts; keeping your bodies in shape is very important and all. You accompany him to his work station and hang there for a bit. The docks always look great in the night time. The ships at the harbor, the lights, even the weather. It's all so refreshing.

"Heard the docks are looking for a couple of extra workers." Titus says.

"Think we should sign up?"

"I'll check it out. If the job is good, then sure. Would be nice to have a job together. Definitely better than the shit we're doin' now."

That would be pretty nice, working with Titus in the same place. It's like getting paid to hang out.

"Well, I'll see ya tomorrow, bud. Don't get shanked on your way home."

You snort. "They'll get a bullet to the face."

You wave goodbye to your dearest friend, and then you're off to your secret place.

You're not actually feeling horny or anything, you're just curious about what he said earlier. Besides, some company is better than no company.

You knock three times and wait.

The door opens.

Kurt grins and lets you inside. You're not sure if he's just a cheerful guy in general or if he's just happy to see you.

"Want something to drink or we gettin' right to it?"

"Not here to fuck, actually." Something you never thought you'd say. He's equally surprised.

"A drink it is then." He gestures for you to sit at the small round table while he grabs two glasses and a bottle of ale. He cracks it open and pours it out into the cups. "So, you just looking for some company? Guess your friend is busy, huh?"

It's like he's aware of the fact that he's just your second choice. You almost feel bad for him. Better wash that down with the ale.

"I'm not sure what to tell you. You don't tell me much about yourself."

"You said you were gonna tell me somethin' in the mornin'. "

He takes a long drink. "Didn't think you would actually wanna hear it. You don't seem too interested in all this soft shit."

"I'm not," you play with the glass for a while, moving it in circles before taking a sip. "Just curious."

He leans back in his seat and looks as though he's reconsidering his thoughts. "I don't want you to think I'm a pussy but," oh, he's definitely having second thoughts. "I don't know."

You're not sure what to say. Usually, you would threaten someone to just spit it out but that's clearly not what you should be doing here, so you wait. Maybe he'll eventually get drunk enough to be brave.

"You know when you meet someone and then you feel this connection?" He snaps his fingers. "Just immediately. There's fucking fire."

You don't know what the fuck he's on about. You don't remember meeting anyone who made you feel like there's fucking fire.

To put it bluntly, he means chemistry. An instant connection that you may mistake for your dick being thirsty. It's a strong bond that..... why am I trying to explain the concept of spiritual connection to you? You wouldn't know a spiritual connection if it sucked your dick. Guys like you don't think about this shit even if you do have someone you connect with that way.

Just look at you and Titus. You're basically soul-fucking-mates.

"I felt that with you," he puts his hands up. "I know, I know. It's cheesy chick-flick bullshit. But man, I felt it. I wasn't sure if I was excited or if I wanted to gag. Even when I think about it, I just think of how fucking stupid it sounds, right? Like you said. I don't know you. But it feels like I do."

"Well, you don't."

He chuckles, there's a sadness to it. You just broke his beefy masculine heart. He looks at his drink for a long while then finishes it up.

"I know you're not this way just 'cause you feel like being an asshole. I know it's hard for you to accept," he points to you then at himself, "this. I was very scared too, you know? I was angry at myself, I thought I'm fucked up. I hated me," he taps on the empty glass. "Have you ever thought of killing yourself?"

Now you're the one staring deep into your drink. You remember those feelings. You remember the broken mirrors and the bandaids. You remember hoping you would never wake up to see the sun. You most certainly remember the anger.

He understands.

"Growing up, I felt like I had to be stronger than my older brother. Better than him. I wanted to prove to my folks that I was just as much of a man. My brother just laughed at me and said, 'men get chicks. Sleep with more women than me.' And I tried but..." He shrugs. "I just wanted to fuck their boyfriends. Always looked at the guys in the porn magazines. It was always the guys in the sports magazines that made me hard."

You relate.

"At first I thought maybe I was jealous because they're big and strong, right? I wanted to be like them. Then I became them and I'm still turned on by them," he looks you from head to toe. "Clearly. It was all so strange. I couldn't ask anyone for help with this either, couldn't tell my friends. So I was just left to figure it out." He closes his eyes. "I remember that first time, jacking another guy off. Fucking him."

You find his expression very interesting. He's certainly thinking about it. You watch him lick his lips slowly and for a moment you think about reaching out and rubbing him through his shorts.

When he looks at you again, his eyes are hazy and full of lust. But he comes back down to earth, away from his beautiful fantasies, and the fog clears from his green lands.

He laughs, feeling a little embarrassed. "Sorry."

You feel a sudden strange urge, then, to kiss him. Not in a sexual way. You just wanted to kiss him. It was a strange feeling but you followed it to his lips. Your hands gently cup his face, and you feel his cheekbones against your palm. The stubble feels like little harmless needles against your skin.

His lips move against yours softly, slowly, gently, as though he's trying to make it last as long as possible. He tastes like sorrow and pain. You taste of anger and bitterness. But it's a wonderful concoction that becomes addictive instantly. Neither of you attempt to put more force into the kiss. No hungry teeth and dancing tongues. It's all love and no lust. You never knew you could be this kind.

When your lips part, he keeps his eyes closed, as though he's envisioning your ghost, still kissing him. The smile on his face is one of the purest things you've ever seen. Genuine happiness. You don't remember the last time you saw someone smile that way.

"What was that for?"

"Just felt like it."

Maybe this is what he meant when he said there's a connection. Maybe you're starting to feel it too. It scares you but at the same time, it's exciting when you think about it. What you do here, in his bed, in his house... It's a secret. It's a dirty little heavenly secret.

This place is sacred to you, just like the lake. A safe haven. One day, You might share it with him, tell him about how you and Titus met there, about your father, and why you live there. Tonight, you'll just tell him one thing.

"Glen."

"What?"

"My name. It's Glen."

"Glen..." another bright smile. "A pretty name for a pretty guy."

"Yeah, don't push it." You finally finish up your drink.

"Well, now I know what I should yell during sex."

You both laugh.

"Really though, it's nice to know your name. You being mysterious was very sexy and all but I prefer this."

He means it.

"Check us out, two men, opening up, talking about feelings and shit." Another laugh.

"Don't get used to it."

"Of course not, can't have people thinking we're a bunch of pansies with," the football player fake gags, "feelings," He draws a cross starting from his head then both his shoulders. "God forbid."

You slap your knees, cackling until you feel tears in your eyes. He gets up from his seat only to put his foot up on the chair. "Aren't we all supposed to just like tits and pussy? But we also gotta know how to handle balls, am I right? Every guy technically grabbed some balls before. Footballs, basketballs, rugby balls. We all grabbed 'em. Also, these things get itchy sometimes" he rubs his crotch.

You can't stop laughing, and this is just with one glass of ale in your system. You're not sure if you'll survive the rest of the night if it continues like this.

He stops for a moment and looks at you. You're oblivious to just how much he enjoys hearing you laugh.

You end up exchanging stories for a bit. You tell him about the one time you and Titus escaped a guard in the docks, and the first time you saw Titus in the ring. You talk about sports and how you came to be interested in rugby, and him in football.

There are still things you don't think you're ready to share with him, like the fact that you killed two men. Maybe you're afraid it'll scare him away? You're not sure. It's funny; before you walked that door, you didn't think you'd care if Kurt never wanted to see you again. You hid things because they didn't matter, but now it's different. And it's not the alcohol's fault.

Feelings sure are strange.

"Tomorrow we're meetin' up with the coach," you say, suddenly you're excited to tell him about your plans tomorrow. "I used to play for the uni's team when they needed a prop to fill in. We haven't played much though, since Titus left."

"You know why he called you in?"

You shrug. "Maybe just to fill in some spots. Maybe some bigger news."

"Bigger news, huh?"

"Yep. He said there are people who are interested in seeing me and Titus play. Maybe it's time."

"Well, don't you go forgetting me when you're famous. You'll be getting a lot more dick."

Oh, right. You almost forgot that this is just a temporary thing. One day you might get bored of it or he'll get bored of you and you'll move on...

"I hope I'll make it big one day too. Maybe leave Martinaise."

"You wanna leave?"

He nods. "If there's some place less shitty, I wanna go there. Lost too many people here for the dumbest reasons; Stray bullets, dumb kids who think they know better... I'm sick of it. Sometimes I think this place will have me before I get the chance to leave. Could say the wrong thing to someone and end up dead."

"It might get better someday."

He chuckles, it's bitter. "I doubt it. But look at you, being optimistic. That's a nice change."

You don't believe in a whole lot of things but you believe in Martinaise. She's your home and all you know. She raised you to be tough, and her roads led you here today. But you don't blame Kurt for wanting something better.

You have another drink, and tonight, he doesn't have to ask you to stay. You lead him to the bed and continue to talk till you're both tired enough to sleep.

The funny thing is, sleep never comes.

By the time you realize you've talked your way to daytime, it's too late.

But that's alright because you don't feel tired anyway, if anything, you feel refreshed. That's surely gonna bite you in the ass later.

Regardless, you both get ready for the day and look forward to meeting again after the sun takes a bow, and the curtain-fall allows the moon to shine.


	18. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Good morning, boys. Long time no see."

Titus taps the front of his shoe against the grass a few times before jogging up to the coach. You just got done stretching when you saw the old man. He nods at you.

You haven't put on your rugby outfit for a while. You miss this.

"Coach." Titus greets the man.

"You boys ready to play?"

"You kiddin'? We're born for this."

"As confident as ever, I see. Well, do your best today."

Titus bends one of his legs, holding it behind his back, then does the same with the other. "Who are we pummeling today?"

"They call themselves The Troopers."

"That sounds lame."

"Yeah, if skills were determined by names, son, we wouldn't be better than anyone. Now get to the field and show them what you got."

"Yes, sir!"

Titus arranges the team, he gives you a pat on the shoulder before moving to the line behind you. You push your teeth guard into place with your tongue, and then you get ready for his speech.

"Alright ladies," he starts, his voice is thunderous. "We got some asses to kick so I hope you got your boots ready. No holdin' back. You want that win, you work for it. You all do your part, you work as a team, and we win this. And when we win, you know what's waitin' for us?"

"Booze and chicks!" The team yelled.

"Damn right. Now go and earn it."

A loud cheer from the team and then they were ready.

The whistle signaled the beginning of the war. The number 8 runs with the ball, tossing it back to the closest team member. You run ahead and try to keep your team from being tackled. The number one loosehead prop provides backup.

Your shoulders collide with the bodies of other men, some larger than yourself. The adrenaline and your canned anger provide you with a boost of strength and you're able to tear through them like a lion through his prey.

As your team scores, you let out a mighty howl, fit for the king of the jungle. You and Titus chest pump and then he ruffles your hair. "Too early to get excited, buddy. Keep your head in the game."

They set the ball down on the kicking tee and Titus kicks it. Everyone watched in anticipation as it flies in the air and goes in between the posts and over the crossbar. Another wild cheer.

The game went smoothly, at most. There were a few casual slip-ups. You almost got kicked out a few times for almost throwing punches at the other team. Usual shit. By half time, both your team and the other were pouring with sweat, but the beast in you was still high on power. The sheer rush of being physical, aggressive... the freedom to be yourself. The monster behind the mask. It was exhilarating. You remove your mouth guard to spit before putting it back in and then you get ready for the second round.

You hear the typical taunts from the other team. They call you Blondie, Goldie locks, and girlie. The same fucking shit. People sure have gotten uncreative with their insults. In the end, you'll still wipe the floor with them, go home, and brush your soft silky hair while they pick up their dignity off the floor.

The ball is tossed to you, you zigzag your way past the other team before throwing the ball to your teammate, and then you're open to tackle the poor soul who tried to slow you down.

Ruck after ruck and maul after maul. Your body endures a great amount of pain from pushing and colliding with other masculine bodies. Then a moment of elegance in the form of lineup lift where you and another team member carry the jumper by grabbing on to his knees and lifting him as far as you could for him to catch the ball that was tossed into the air. He grabs it and tosses it to the receiver who then tosses it to Titus. You and Titus often practice lifting together. This is not the time to remember the sight of him on your shoulder like a cheerleader, or that perfect view of his crotch but now you’re thinking about it. Keep your head straight, literally!

The game goes on, your orange outfit is now brown with mud. All of you, head to toe, covered in dirt, and by the time the whistle declares the end of the match, you’re soaked in sweat and stained with soil. Both teams line up and shake hands. You and the opposing tighthead prop both have firm grips. You wouldn't know looking at him. His hair is wavy and his bangs are long, covering his forehead. But it's nowhere as long as your hair.

"You're tough, I'll give you that." He tells you. You smirk. It would be nice to compliment him back but honestly, you thought he played like a total sissy. He should have went harder. A prop that’s afraid of breaking some bones is no good prop. This spot is for the big guys, the vicious monsters! A man with lots of anger and a sadist.

Your team lines up. Titus raises his hand, all of you follow, and then a dozen of fists slam against chests as you howl in victory. You sing to your win tonight, all of you in unison, truly like one soul, one team. “Well done, fellas! We’re drinkin’ like champions tonight. All of us. Party-fuckin-“

“Hardie!” The team chants.

“Damn right! Now I don’t gotta tell you that you did well. You’re winners, you know you did well. But now you all smell like shit. Go get washed up.”

You and Titus gather up as the two teams leave. He gives your shoulder a light squeeze. “You were pretty badass today. You see how you brought that other prop down? Fuckin’ blood pouring from his mouth.” He doesn’t expect any less from you. He’s also proud that you didn’t start any REAL fights with the other team.

“Boys,” You hear the coach call from the side of the field. He’s standing with some rather important looking people. I say that because they’re not your typical disheveled poverty-stricken men. They look neat and they wear suits. You and Titus exchange glances and then walk up to the man. “Titus Hardie. You’ve seen him, our fly-half,” he turns to you. “Glen Dixon, tighthead prop.”

One of the men looks at you. “You’re a very dangerous prop,” you’re not sure if it’s a compliment so you keep your expression indifferent. The man reaches out and puts his hand on your arm, squeezing then nods to himself. He was just checking out your muscles. No homo though. His attention switches to Titus. “Heard your speech. A good fly-half makes friends with his team. He knows how to motivate them. They need a leader, you’re a natural.”

Titus grins, as charming as always. “Thanks!”

“We’ve watched you play for a while. We’re impressed with your performance.” You blinked. It was now dawning on you who these men are. You didn’t think Titus could smile any wider but he did. You couldn’t help but mirror it. “How would you boys like a chance to play for the Martinaise Flaming Rhinos?” This is it, the big leagues! All your wildest dreams come true!

You can’t even see the look of pride on the coach’s face. You’ve come a long way. It was time for him to let you go, and watch you go on to something bigger.

“Yes!” You try not to sound too enthusiastic, just a bit. No crazy fanboy/girl level of enthusiasm. Just some soon to be international rugby stars.

“Good. How about we talk about it over dinner? Say, tomorrow?”

The two of you nod again. Contracts and business shit are the boring part of the process but you look forward to it this time because this time it’ll be life changing!

“Good,” the man scribbles down an address. “This is the place. 7 PM. For now, go enjoy your victory. You earned it.”

“Thank you!” Titus shakes the man’s hand, and then you do. The men leave. Only then do you and Titus fist pump and let out an excited squeal.

“Look at you boys, all grown up. Don’t forget us when you’re big. You’re playing for our district now. You’ll make Martinaise proud. Might actually start winning some games for a change."

“We will, coach.” Titus hugs the old man. “Thanks, for everythin’.”

You leave the field feeling better than you’ve felt in a while. If your father was alive… you would have rubbed the contract all over his face.

The pub is not happy to have you. You drink the night away, and the more you drink the more annoying you become. The team’s hooker (that being the #2, not an actual hooker) gets up on the table and starts singing. The bartender almost kicks you out so you try to keep it down. “Sorry about that. Won’t happen again. These folks here, they’re just excited about their win today.” Titus explains. The bartender really doesn’t give a fuck.

You think you’ll drink yourself into a coma today, but you remember you have a very important meeting tomorrow that YOU CANNOT MISS. So you control the urge to have another drink. You and Titus leave the party early. You go back to the lake and sit by the shoreline, the water touches your toes. It’s very cold but what else is new.

“Can you believe it, man? You and me? Playin’ for the Flamin’ Rhinos.”

You can’t believe it. You’re sure if this was a dream and you woke up to find that the past two years of your life were nothing but a dream, you might just die of a heart attack.

“We’ve been dreamin’ about this since we were kids.”

You turn to look at him and realize he’s already looking at you, all bright smiles and bright-eyed even in the darkness. The moon illuminates his frame, and man, what a frame it is. You could have all the men in the world, but your heart will always be his. Always.

Remember what Kurt said about soulmates? The strong connection you get with someone? This is it, baby. Burning heaven right before your very eyes. The tension between you is unbearable. It’s undeniable. You know it, he knows it. He’s just waiting for you to say yes. When he leans forward, you don’t pull back. You don’t stop him. You can’t deny how much you crave him.

But you can’t have him. Not him. Not Titus. You can lose anyone, you’ll live. You can walk away from anyone, you’ll recover. But you can’t lose Titus. Anyone but him. And yet, when his lips touch yours, you kiss him back. It’s soft and gentle and slow. He could have gone home with a lady today, he could have fucked the entire pub if he wanted but he chose you. You bring your hand up to his face and caress his jaw. You keep the kiss at its pace, never going faster, never pushing. He tastes like everything you love and more. This felt much better than your first kiss. It felt more… real. And yet… you can’t let yourself enjoy it for much longer.

You end it with a hand to his chest and a gentle push. “What?”

“T. Come on. We can’t do this.”

He shrugs.”Why not?”

You lower your head, a little sigh escapes your lips. “We just got accepted into the big leagues, man. We worked so hard for this."

If they found out…

Titus takes off his hat and runs his hand through his short dark hair. It’s silent for a while as he gazes at the horizon, then he sniffs and rubs his nose. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.”

You feel relieved to hear him say that.

“They don’t want a bunch of fuckin’ f*ggots to be playin’ for their team after all.” Panic rises in you again instantly when you hear the anger in his voice.

“Titus…”

“Is that what you think of me, Glenny? You think I’m just a f*g?”

“No! It’s not like that!”

“Then what is it? First, it was your old man and now it’s this. It’s always somethin’ with you, huh? You just don’t wanna accept this.”

You have nothing to say. What can you say after all? That you’re sorry? That you’re not gay? That you’re just scared? Scared of losing him, scared of what folks would say and what they would do if they found out. You remember what Kurt told you about the gang that beat the queer guy to death. You don’t want to die like this. You don’t want that to happen to Titus. You love him too much to let that happen. You can never be. Maybe when you’re famous, he’ll find someone else. Some pretty chick that will change him and make him want to settle down and one day he’ll have a family. But you’ll never love anyone else. You’ll long for him, always.

“I didn’t choose this,” The words escape you before you can stop them. They’re a low hushed whisper, but Titus hears them. It’s too late to turn back now. “I wish I was normal. You think I like being a f*ggot?! I would give anythin’ to be like you, T. You get women and you can fuck ‘em. I can’t.” This isn’t even the real issue here. In the past twenty years of your life, you’ve gotten into more than a thousand fights with every single person who called you queer. Anyone who dared threaten your masculinity. Anyone who you were afraid would find out who you really are. You nearly killed some of them. This anger inside of you is the child of unhappiness. The longer you contain this the more it grows and the stronger the monster in you becomes. Soon you’ll be nothing but an unhinged mad-man, and you’ll drink yourself to death. You’ll be just like your old man. Bitter, angry, and sad.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with—“

You shove your hand in his face. “No! You know that ain’t true. You know it ain't. It ain’t right.” You can’t convince yourself otherwise no matter what Kurt or Titus say. If there was nothing wrong with being queer then why do people frown upon it? It’s because you’re different, right? Because it’s not right… freaks… that’s what you are, right? It’s easier for you to blame the alcohol and your anger. It’s easier to be unhinged because then men would celebrate you. But you wouldn’t be celebrated for being a cock sucker. They’d love you when you degrade women because then you’re strong. They’d love you when you win a fight, and when you keep your emotions bottled up in beer cans, and when you’re loud and rowdy, and when you like sports. They’ll love you as long as you’re like them. So just be a man.

Titus is silent. He doesn’t know how to get through to you. You’re not sure anything can. You’ll hate yourself every day for the rest of your life.

Fuck… you’re supposed to be happy. You’re supposed to celebrate.

Look what you’ve done. You ruined the night.

“I’m sorry… Just forget this dumb shit. Alright? We should be happy.”

“I want you to be happy, Glenny.”

You fake a grin. “I am happy, T. We’re goin’ big. That’s all that matters.”

He sighs then his lips twitch into a sad smile. “Yeah.”

The rest of the night is not as pleasant as you hoped it would be.

“Been wondering why you didn’t show up last night. Not often you visit in the morning either. I’m guessing it’s urgent?” Kurt steps aside and lets you in, closing the door behind you. He is dressed in nothing but his sleeping shorts and it was hard for you not to take in the sight. “How did it go with the coach?”

“It went great,” you slap your hands together and rub them. “Fuckin’-dandy, peachy really.”

“Okay?”

He gives you a cigarette. Maybe you just look like you really need one. “We got a meetin’ today with folks from the Martinaise Rhino’s.”

His eyes widen. “Glen! That sounds great!”

"Mhm," is all you can offer. You're too busy sucking in toxic smoke. When you finally exhale, you go on. "We went to celebrate last night and we were supposed to be happy."

"But?"

You ruffle your long blonde hair before putting the cigarette back between your lips. "But we went somewhere and we ended up kissing and I fucked the rest of the night up."

Usually, you would bottle this in. But getting this off your chest feels great! (Highly recommended experience.)

Kurt grabs a chair and sits down while you flop on one of the couches. "Well, what did you do?"

You stare at the ceiling for a bit then you chuckle. "When we were just dumb little kids we'd use to kiss. I didn't think nothin' of it," but now the memories flood in. "It wasn't a kiss kiss, more like we'd peck each other on the lips."

Kurt smiled. "Well, you're clearly very close." But that doesn't answer his question.

"You should know Titus and I had sex before. Wild fuckin' drunken sex."

"Sure you did. Who doesn't wanna fuck their best friend?" He snickers.

"I pushed him away last night."

"Why?"

You sigh. "You know why. Does your team know you're queer?"

Kurt pouts. "I see your point. You just got the chance to make it big. Media attention, the pressure, I get it. But do you love him?"

For a moment you feel the rage rise in you, it's just an instinct now. Someone says something you don't like and you're immediately angry. You let it out with a cloud of smoke. "I don't know." The biggest lie you've ever told.

"Imagine for a moment that we can walk out there without getting killed. Would you have went out with him?"

"I mean," you rub the back of your head. "Yeah. I guess. He's my best friend."

"Who could be a better lover to you than your own best friend?" His smile widens. "You got something a lot of people wish they could have, Glen," he gets up and kneels beside you. "Don't fuck it up."

As if that's not what you've been trying to do.

You shrug. "What would you do?"

Kurt thinks for a moment then shakes his head. "You and me, we're not the same. I can't tell you what to do. I'm not as tough as you. I'm a helpless romantic, I think with my heart. You think with your fists... But if I were you? I would risk it for a chance to be happy. Haven't we been sad for long enough?" He reaches out and puts his hands on your face gently. "Memento Mori, right? If you die... You at least had him." Then he pecks your lips.

You know he's right. But still... there is so much to lose, more than just your life.

"I'll think about it."

"No. This is something you talk to him about. Be open with him."

You chuckle bitterly. Being open? You can't do that. Men don't open up about their feelings. How does Kurt do it? You're so afraid of everything; you're afraid of losing Titus. You're afraid of ruining your chance of making your dreams come true. You're afraid of what people would say. You're afraid of yourself. You're afraid of being less of a man. For a guy that does very little thinking, you sure do think a lot. Maybe those concussions you get from playing too much rugby are doing something to you.

“You know I’m not very good at talkin’.”

He chuckles. “I can tell, bro. But all you have to do is open your mouth and just talk. You two do that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but…”

“If Titus Hardie is as great as everyone makes him out to be, he’ll listen and he’ll understand."

He's your best friend. You should take into consideration how Titus feels too. He's tough, tougher than you. That's always been his greatest fault.

"Okay..." You put out the cigarette. "But I have to be pretty fuckin' wasted to do this."

"Then get fucking wasted. Anything that helps."

You nod. This was a good talk.

"You got a pretty big interview to prepare for today, and I got a date so... best we prepare for the day, huh?" He's not kicking you out. He's just saying that you need time to pull your shit together.

"You got a date?"

"Yeah! Pretty little diner boy. His name is Elliot. Met him some time ago."

"Before or after we fucked?"

"You mean the party? After. Don't worry, that doesn't mean we can't fuck still."

Well, this is awkward. But hey, you still get to bang.

He hugs you goodbye. It reminds you of the days where you would hold on to Titus before going home. The calm before the storm. But he doesn't smell like the sea, not the way Titus does. He smells more like grass.

"Let me know how it goes. Best luck to you."

You nod and then you leave.

"Just don't start any fights and we should be good." Titus tugs gently on your hair as he pulls it up to tie it. Ponytail, it looks good on you. Very clean.

You weren't sure what to wear. It's not like you have any suits or "business" outfits. So you just put on the Hardie jacket that Titus gave you on your birthday and wore whatever clean clothes you had under.

"Feelin' nervous?"

"Tch. No. You?"

Titus takes a look at you, nods to himself, then responds, "Nah. We're naturals. We don't got nothin' to worry about."

To be honest, you're a little nervous. Again, talking isn't your best skill. You might end up saying the wrong thing so it's best to let Titus handle this.

You arrive at the diner before 7 and it's not long before the man from before makes an appearance, dressed in black, looking all professional and shit. You and Titus look just like simple citizens in comparison (which you are. But I'm sure they understand.)

The diner is fancier than your typical truck shop. You're not used to this but you hope the food is great. You're hungry.

"So boys, why not tell us a bit about yourself?"

Ah shit.

"Well," Titus starts. "We both grew up here in Martinaise. Glen and I met when were just kids and we hit it off instantly. We were both interested in sports, I'm part of the rowing club and I used to be a prizefighter. "

The man nods, taking notes. Now that made you nervous.

"Your coach tells me you're an excellent player but you didn't continue with the team."

"I had to drop out. My dad died. I had to get a job and be there for my mom and little brother."

Another nod, then he turns to you. "And what about you, kiddo?"

Deep breath. "I work in some warehouse, loading and unloading shit. Never went to school."

He notes that down. Shit.

"You're a pretty big guy. Guess your work helps you build your body a lot, huh?"

"That, and some extra workouts but yeah."

"Were you also a fighter?"

"You can say that." Yeah, a street fighter.

"Stand up."

You blink and tilt your head but then do as you're told. The man's eyes on you make you uncomfortable.

"He's as big as our prop, isn't he, Jimmy?"

The other man looks at you from head to toe. "He's wider. Definitely got the build for a prop. We'll do the physical examinations next week."

"Alright." He gestures for you to sit.

"You know the cup season is just around the corner, right?"

"Sure do." Titus says. In all honesty, you were so excited you kind of forgot about it.

"We have a few games before that. We might keep you on the bench for a couple. You need to watch and learn. It's nothing like playing for a university. The teams out there? They're vicious. They're professionals. They will tear you down. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" You both nod.

"We want you to meet the team, especially you, Titus. You're a fly-half. You need to know your team."

"Sounds good."

"You both said you work, when will you be free to meet the team?"

"I work night shifts so I'm good any day." He looks at you.

"I can take a day off." Or just not show up for work. Who really cares? (The big man on his chair does. But that's a worry for another time.)

"How about next week when you come in for the examination?"

You both nod again.

"Good. Now we'll have you go through some contracts. See if you like it."

Um... You didn't think this through but... You can't read. When they hand the two of you some stacks of paper. You stare blankly at them. Titus glances at you from the corner of his eyes. He's got your back. "Can Glen and I discuss these together?"

"Go ahead. We'll order something for you boys to eat."

As soon as their attention is off you, Titus turns to you and you turn to him. He goes through some of the contract and the two of you share some opinions. In the end, you're gonna sign this. You can do that. You at least know how to write your name.

The pay is nice, the benefits are nice. You could just quit your job and be a rugby player full time if you play your cards right.

They bring the food in by the time you two are done talking. A big plate of seafood. I'm talking crabs, shrimps, fish, escargot, calamari, even fucking sushi. It smells so good. On top of that, they set down two giant cups of beer. Oh, you could get used to this.

You dig in like animals. When you're satisfied, the plates are empty. The beast has feasted and it's very pleased.

"You eat like champions. The rhinos are very excited to see what you'll bring to the table." That almost sounds like a joke.

"You can count on us, sir!"

They talk to you a bit more then finally you sign your contracts and you hand them back to the man. You're now officially part of the Martinaise flaming rhinos, and you feel like a rhino.

You continue with pleasantries for a while longer before the men say goodnight. When they finally leave, you and Titus get a beer for the road and then finally allow yourself to bathe in excitement.

"Oh, man! This is it! We're gonna fuckin' change this game's history!" He's over exaggerating but you think you might just be able to.

"Yeah. Maybe with us, the rhinos will get their shit fixed. They haven't won gold in a while."

"And takin' home the cup this season is exactly what we need to show 'em we got what it takes!" He puts both hands on your shoulders. His eyes are brighter than the moon. "We gotta work hard, Glenny."

You nod.

He pulls you into a hug, and you're too weak to say no. He's too warm and so full of love to give. You wrap your arms around his solid frame and press your cheek to his shoulder. You fall in love all over again in his arms.

When you part, he looks at you and you look at him. His lips twitch, and a sad glint sparkles in his eyes just for a split moment, and then it's gone.

"It's been a long day. Get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah..."

With that, he disappears into his home, leaving you alone with the cold. Suddenly, you feel like you're fourteen again, and you dread the thought of going back to your lonely room.


	19. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Your body cuts through the air as your arms swing back and forth and your legs kick through the sand and grass, launching you forward. You're a lion on the hunt, vicious, ruthless. Your golden hair flows with the wind like a mighty mane. You feel like a king. Next to you, Titus Hardie is trying to outrun you. It takes a lot to beat the king but what is a king to a god?

He passes you, you pass him. A shove from him, a nudge from you. Your lungs are on fire and you have to keep them from combusting by keeping the air going through them. The sound of your laughter and your heavy breathing gives life to the world around you.

The sky is grey, but there aren’t many clouds. The weather is cold as always. Luckily you have your Hardie jacket with you to keep you warm. Right now it’s tied around your waist as you and Titus run through the familiar roads of the lake with your sweat-stained tank tops on. You don’t slow down for a minute and neither does he. It’s not a competition, but you’d love to rub it in his face when you outrun him.

You must have been doing this for a while. You leave drops of sweat at your wake, and your sure you’ve become extremely red. But you do this at least three times a week. Gotta stay fit, these muscles didn’t just grow on you overnight after all. You stop when you reach the other side of the lake. Your hair, even though it was tied into a neat ponytail, is now messy and very wet. You lean forward and press your hands to your knees as you try to steady your breathing. Titus bends his back and faces the sun. Soon enough, you’re back to normal. You’d take a dip in the lake to get all this sweat off but your workout is not done yet.

A firm hand comforts your back, your spinal cord is very grateful for the support. “That was good.” Titus wipes his face with his other hand. His palms are sweaty (mom’s spaghetti) so it doesn’t really do much to help with the body fluid dripping down his face.

Next, the two of you find yourselves tangled in one another. His face is pressed against the junction between your neck and shoulder, and yours is filling the space between his. Your hand is on his shoulder, he’s a mirror of you. It’s a scrum made of two players. He pushes against you, you push him back. The dirt beneath you makes a hill as you shove back and forth. Every now and then a grunt would escape one of you. And then your favorite part… you practice tackling. Titus readies himself for your weight, you run him with your shoulder. Your bodies collide but Titus doesn’t fall. “Again.” His tone of voice is that of a coach’s. Always the commander, Titus Hardie is. You crack your shoulder and then take a few steps back, just enough to have some force in your tackle when your bodies hit. Another slam, this time harder. He doesn’t fall. “Again.” A third hit. He stands upright and nods to himself. “Good.”

You switch. When Titus’s body makes contact with yours it’s like a boulder, but you stand your ground. Another, then another. He wears you down. By the end, you both fall to the ground and laugh.

“One more workout and we’re done for today."

“Yeah?”

He doesn’t respond for a while. When you look at him, you see that his eyes are closed. He’s focusing on his breathing. You do the same. Then he finally says, "wanna fight?"

You open your eyes and turn to look at him. His heavy hooded gaze rests on you and it's that familiar crash between land and sea. "I'm always up for a fight."

"Yeah. I know, you sadistic bastard."

You stay for a while longer, just enough for a gust of wind to brush through, before getting up. Titus puts his hands up, you do the same.

You've danced to this song before a million times. Like a shark, you swim around him, he observes you. You throw the first punch, he dodges. Another punch, the prizefighter in him is awakened. He ducks and punches you in the stomach. It's not too strong. This one is just a warning. Keep your guard up. Be faster. Focus.

You swing your left hook and follow it up with your right. He steps back. There's no counter-attack. This is a boxing strategy. You'd know if you had his skills. You're falling right into his trap.

Another hook. Another miss. He steps to the side, you circle around each other. You wait, and then try to surprise him with a hit. He blocks.

"Come on, Glenny."

You're getting frustrated. Your attacks become more rapid. One, two, three. He guards his face with his arms and then ducks in time to dodge the fourth punch. An uppercut sends you stumbling back. He doesn't pursue you and lets you regain your balance.

"Focus, Glen."

You growl and go straight in for another hook. The wind wooshes at the force of your attacks, your fists cutting through it like a knife. It's another miss. The next one is stronger. He bends down and goes under your arm to the other side. A punch to the back pushes you forward. You try to elbow him but fail to connect, his ghost has already left the scene and leaves you with nothing but your anger.

You're too blind at this point to see that he's wearing you out. When you're exhausted, you'll be an easy target. Just like he did with the big guy years ago.

Your hits never collide but his always connect. You fall to the floor after his left fist slams against the side of your face.

"You're too angry, Glen. Not to sound like a smartass but you gotta control your anger before it controls you."

Fuck this bullshit. You jump him and tackle him down to the ground, pinning him down with your weight as you rain hell's fury upon his perfect face.

That's more like it.

Fuck controlling your anger. Anger feels good! Anger makes you strong! Hell yeah, baby!

You grab him by his tank top with one fist and punch him with the other. His head snaps to the side with every hit, until he's spitting your love in blood. You feel the urge then to kiss the rosy liquid off his lips.

We've been through this before. So many times. So, so many times. Not just in this life, but the life behind your eyes when you close them at night. The blissful dreams of you tasting the pain you gave him on his lips, down his neck. It makes your mouth dry.

You've stopped punching a while ago and now he's just left staring at you through one good eye. Does he know your dirty little twisted secret?

Fuck... You might just start getting hard if he keeps looking at you like this.

Just get off...

I mean get off him. Don't pull your dick out.

You slowly move back and he pushes forward, causing you to fall down on your back while he gets on top of you. You expect him to bust your face to return the favor but he doesn't, he simply looks down at you with bloody teeth and a bruised smile.

He leans down and damn it, your dick is a bit too excited about this. His nose almost touches yours. You can feel his hot breath against your skin when he speaks, "You're a shitty fuckin' boxer, Glenny. If this was a real match you would have been disqualified."

"Fuck your boxin'." Your words are quieter than usual but still loud. You're afraid your lips would touch his if you spoke too much.

He slaps you playfully on the cheek a few times and then gets up. "Come on, let's get cleaned up."

Good. The cold water should help with your boner.

You strip down to your boxers and jump into the water. Titus wipes the blood and dirt from his face before ducking down under, and there he remained. You watch the space where he used to be, waiting for him to surface, and after a while he does.

The two of you swim deeper into the lake. Mother nature is singing her songs, and Martinaise is peaceful at the moment.

"Technically, I won that fight. Just so you know."

"Tch, whatever."

He looks at you with that same bruised smile. "You had fun with that, huh? I know you're a fightin' machine, Glenny. But jeez. You're sadistic fuck. I feel bad for the guy that's gonna share a bed with you."

You forget how to swim for a moment. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"What? You're not plannin' on scorin' some guys?"

"The only scorin' I'll be doin' is scorin' tries on the rugby field."

He snorts. There's something very condescending about it. You realize why when he says, "Yeah, and thinkin' about me while you fuck some chick, right? 'Cause that's the only way you'll ever be able to get your dick hard with a woman."

The water can't extinguish the flame of rage burning in you. "Shut up!"

"I don't get it, Glen. Why don't you just---" you don't let him finish. You jump up and push his head under the water, drowning him.

Another fight.

He drags you under with him. You push and shove like little kids except with a lot more anger. Your cusses are just bubbles, they're meaningless to the water. This is where your silence speaks waves, and right now his eyes are a storm.

You swim back to the surface when your lungs plead for air. He makes his way to shore without looking back then picks up his clothes. You watch him for a while, watch him put his jacket and pants on then grab his bag. There’s tension in the silence. Your friendship has become imbalanced, and you both are struggling to stay on board.

You drag yourself back to land and put your clothes on. The tension becomes stronger. Suddenly his bruised face doesn’t look as appealing.

You find yourself thinking back on an old question…

Will it ever be the same? Can you ever go back to being like you were before that night on your birthday?

“Titus…” You fish your mind for something to say but everything sounds stupid. Why are you like this? Why can’t you just function like a normal human being?

“Save it, Glen.”

Whatever you were going to say, you swallow it.

“I gotta go. I’ll see you later.”

He doesn’t actually have to go anywhere but he just needs to clear his head. It’s hard putting up with you, give him some time and space.

There’s fear in your heart as you watch him leave, the fear that he’s going to realize that he doesn’t have to take this shit from you. He could just walk away and never look back.

He’s gone. You’re all alone now.

Alone with your thoughts. You don’t want that. So you pack your things and head to Kurt’s place. The road to there is unkind to you, every step is filled with a thought, of self-loathing and hate, your mind drowns you in blame and all it does is make you angry. You just want to hurt someone.

Your knocks are louder than usual. When Kurt opens, he has little time to be shocked because you shove him back and slam the door shut behind you.

Keep it together, Glen. Kurt might not be your friend, but he has been kinder to you than most.

You curl your hands into fists and punch the wall. Your anger numbs the pain.

“Glen? What’s wrong?"

“Shut up!” You snap at him. You should have just went home, now you’re here, endangering a man who cares about you.

You’re always like this. Always hurting people who love you; physically, emotionally, and mentally.

Kurt looks at you with concern and fear in his eyes, yet he reaches out and puts his hand on your shoulder. “It’s alright. Just breathe.”

'Just breathe' is a funny thing to say to someone. You’re always breathing, otherwise, you’d be fucking dead. Then again, I guess it’s just good advice. Breathe so you don’t die.

You feel like you're fuming. Your hand finds its way to his and for a moment you feel like twisting it but instead, you breathe.

"You know, when I'm tensed up a massage always helps."

That sounds really really good right now. In fact, it sounds like the beginning of a porno. He's gonna rub your back and then you're gonna fuck.

Maybe that's just what you need right now... let the aggression out in bed. Biting, scratching, rough sex. Aggression and arousal go hand in hand for you.

This should have been Titus if you had let him. The two of you would have been having mind-blowing sex by the lake right now.

God damn it...

"Come on," he takes a step back towards the bed, then another, and you follow him. There's a slight cold breeze as he slips your jacket off, you're a little caught off guard by how gentle such masculine hands can be. "Practice didn't go well today?"

You don't really feel like talking about it, not verbally anyway. You want to bite his hand, bite his arm the way you do to yourself, till the skin turns purple.

He waits a bit too long for an answer, it never comes. He doesn't say anything else, he simply continues to strip you of your clothes before gently pushing you down on the bed. You grab him by the hips and pull him down with you. Your arms tangle around his waist and push him towards you, low enough for you to sink your fangs into the skin of his shoulders. He hisses. It hurts but he lets you do it.

Your nails torment his back, digging into him, almost ripping his shirt apart. Then you arch your back and grind your bodies together. The friction soothes his pain.

His fingers intertwine in your hair but he doesn't pull. He waits for you to release him from your claws, distracting himself with your locks, twirling them around the digits of his hands. Finally, you let go of the purple and abused skin, and Kurt lets out a soft sigh. Perhaps it was relief, or maybe a part of him enjoys the pain. A masochist and a sadist. The perfect pair.

He closes his fist around your hair, giving it a gentle tug. When he looks at you with those heavy-lidded eyes, you feel a weight crashing down on you. His lips tug into a smile that twists your guts, and then he pulls you in for a kiss. It's harsh; he bites down on your lower lip and his tongue snakes its way into your mouth. It's hungry, lustful, needy. Just what you need. There's no love in the way you move against one another, no rhythm to your dance. It's simply just teeth and tongue.

The hurricane carries on for the rest of the night. You fuck until you're tired enough to let go of your anger. By then he's a sweating mess, and you're purple and blue all over. There are love bites on your hips, your shoulders, everywhere clothes can hide. You left scratch marks on him, a little reminder he can look at for the next few days.

He invites you to the shower to get cleaned up, and with the running water, the last remains of your anger wash away.

He squeezes a bit of shampoo onto his palm and then onto your hair and you let him massage your scalp until your head becomes bubbly.

"I really like your hair. Have I ever told you that before?"

Seems like more guys like your hair than chicks. You look like a rockstar. If you headbang right now, you'll be making the place look like a murder scene, except instead of blood, it'll be bubbles and shampoo.

You feel his hands caress your body, his fingers drawing the lines of your hips and your spine. It's relaxing. You almost forgot how good it feels to have a nice warm shower for a change, and not the chilling water of the lake.

You wash up and grab a towel to dry off after you're done. You realize then that Kurt is looking at you, or rather, at your body. At your scars. You remember then that you've never told him about your father.

There's a scar on your chest where he had dug a broken glass shard into your skin. Even though he's dead, he still keeps his memory alive through the scars he gave you. You should have buried him. Now his ghost will always haunt you.

"That looks nasty."

You shrug.

"Just make sure you don't end up dead."

He means it. Not in the "I'll miss you if you die." Kind of way, more like "would be a bummer if you die." Way. There's care in it.

There are other things you should be thinking about. You're going to meet your new team in a few days. You have your check-up. It's going to be awkward to explain those bruises and bite marks but hey, just say you got a thing for chicks who like it rough.

"Now that you're all cooled down. You wanna talk about what happened today?"

Talk? About feelings? Opening up? You would rather die. If you talked about every problem you had, you wouldn't need a fuck-buddy. Hell, if you wanted someone to listen to you talk about your feelings you would have went to therapy (which you so desperately need but are oblivious to just how much you need it. The problem is health costs money and you're barely keeping it together. Sucks when life is like that.)

Sometimes you talk to Titus. You don't notice that you do because it just comes so naturally. Also, it's hard to hide something from him, he'll eventually know. He's got a sharp eye.

"Was it something to do with your plans? Joining the Rhinos?"

You click your tongue. You wish he would stop trying to decide what's wrong with you.

"Then it's gotta do with your pal, right?"

He hands you some of his clothes for you to wear. They're a little tight but they'll do.

"A conversation works only if the other side participates too, you know."

"Yeah. I had a fight with Titus."

Kurt nods. "Was it about the team?"

"No. It was about," you gesture vaguely. "Us. Me and him."

"And?"

"Just seems like," you shrug. Words, Glen. Words. You may be a dumb jock but you know how to run your mouth like a marathon. Use words. "I dont know. It's just never been the same since..."

"Since you fucked?"

"Yeah."

"Well, maybe it shouldn't be."

You blink and tilt your head like a confused dog. "We just supposed to be awkward now?" You don't want that. You want to be able to go back to making dick jokes and pretending like you're scoring some ladies...

"You said that you kissed the other day, right? Clearly, there's interest."

That's the fucking problem. There's interest. You want him, he wants you. But...

Shit. Why did it have to be like this? You want to rip your stupid heart out for not stopping this. If you open your chest, you'll bleed the colors of the rainbow so it's best to keep it in.

"I know you got this whole 'big man' thing going on but," he pauses to put his shirt over his head. "Do you love him? I mean like really." and then the two of you head into the kitchen where he offers you a drink. "I mean spend the rest of your life with him and maybe have kids kind of love."

Your heart immediately shouts yes but your brain is telling it to shut the fuck up. It's a little more complicated than that.

"He's my best friend." you look into your glass and see your reflection on the surface.

"Glen, it's a simple yes or no question. Do you love him?"

You don't like this. Too much pressure. It's making it even harder to think. Simple my ass. This is gonna need a 20 hour thought process.

He leans closers to you and raises an eyebrow. "I don't know, okay? I don't know." You finally break.

He takes a sip of his drink. "Well, how would you feel if I told you I'm kind of curious about him myself? I saw him around uni. Thought he was pretty damn hot."

Uh-oh here comes the anger again.

"The fuck?!"

"Yeah. I bet he's fucking amazing in bed."

Composure, Glenny-boy.

"One more word out of you and I'll bash your teeth in and make you choke on your own tongue!"

Or you can be angry. That too. Sure.

Kurt chuckles at that. "You do love him. Otherwise, you wouldn't be so jealous. Don't worry, I'm not gonna try to fuck him."

"You better not!"

"Well, he's not gonna wait for you to come around forever. He's probably out banging some chick right now."

He probably is. You wonder if he ever thinks about you while he fucks other people.

"Don't make him wait too long, alright?"

There's nothing left to say. You have a lot of thinking to do before bed tonight. So you say goodnight and Kurt gives you a beer for the road. "To clear your head" he says.

When you return to your cozy little shack, you quickly find the darkness of the night unwelcoming. In the distance, you can hear the jetty creaking with the wind and the waves. You wonder if Titus's little family boat is holding up well but you're too tired to check. The door greets you with a similar squeak as you open it, and so does the wood beneath your feet. When you open the lights, nothing is waiting for you but empty beer cans and leftover food.

There's a calendar on the wall, a pinup of scantily clad women, and underneath the picture is a red mark to remind you that you're about to meet your new team in a few days. You should be excited but you can't bring yourself to feel anything right now.

Your steps are heavy as you return to your lonesome room. You kick your shoes off and strip down, keeping Kurt's clothes to the side so you don't forget to return them, then you lie down and stare at the cracks on the ceiling.

There's far too much to think about that all your thoughts battle it out for dominance in your head, to You, that just translate to your head yelling a dozen of things all at once.

You have to think about this and that and what's next. You have to think of where you're headed in life and what's important. What are you doing, Glenny? Focus.

You feel like your brain has split into tiny versions of itself and each part of it is pulling you in a different direction. It's tearing you into pieces.

Focus.

You clutch your head in a desperate attempt to silence them but of course, that doesn't do anything. You think about your future, how it looks so bright now that it's almost blinding you. Everything you dreamed of is right there and it'll soon be yours. The stadiums, the crowd. They're gonna love you. But what's fame and fortune if you have no one to share it with? You're never gonna settle down, Blondie. No marriage, no kids. Queers don't get to have that. So you'll spend the rest of your life alone, or you'll be killed at some point.

You think about what Kurt told you, all the things he's told you. All the bullshit about soulmates and those special connections you make with someone. You think about what he said about keeping Titus waiting...

And Titus. You think about him, of course, you think about him, and those thoughts are heavy. A tape of your entire life plays before your very eyes. When did you fall in love with him? Why? How? You think about that cursed night on your birthday and try not to linger on the thought for too long. The taste of his lips, the feeling of his skin, his body. Oh god.

You think about the ghost of your old man, hovering over you as he watches you squirm. There's no swatting him away, you just flail your hands like a madman.

Focus. It's hard but you just need to focus.

You end up leaving the bed to pace around your room. Push-ups, they usually help you relax. So you do as many as your body allows you. Sadly these push-ups aren't PUSHING anything away. Your thoughts persist.

When you stand up, you see your reflection in the mirror. How you loath that thing that looks back at you. Your blue eyes have not shined in forever. Your sunshine hair has no light. You're dull.

Your thoughts wear you out and yet your anger torments you and keeps you going.

You don't sleep at all that night.

* * *

"Rhinos. This is our new tighthead prop. His name is Glen Dixon," there are a few chuckles in the room at the sound of your name. The manager ignores them and goes on. "Your new Fly-half. Titus Hardie."

"Hardie Dixon." Someone in the room says, the rest of the team laugh.

"Dixon Hardie." More of the same.

Great start.

"Play nice. Get to know each other. They'll be with us for the cup season. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two from them." The man leaves, closing the door behind him and leaving you and Titus with the new team, all cramped up in the locker room.

Titus extends his hand to the first player in front of him. They all shake it one by one, and then it's your turn.

Their faces are familiar to you. You've been to a few matches before, and when you're not seeing them live, you recognize them from magazines.

"Lockers in the back." One of them points. The two of you nod and find your lockers.

A quick scan of the room gives you little hints about who these guys are and what they're like. Bodybuilder posters hung inside their lockers, nude women, cigarettes, hair gel, alcohol bottles. Basically they're your average athletes. Nothing too extraordinary. You'll be getting drunk with them and talking about fucking women in no time.

"You two look a little young."

"Yeah, well it's good to start early."

"You must be good."

Titus snorted. "We can play a game and you'll see."

The room was filled with "OOOOOOO"s

"You're ballsy, Hardie. I'll give you that."

"I got the balls and the dick to lead one hell of a team. You wanna be it? All you gotta do is listen."

The team seemed genuinely interested. You envy Titus's effortless ability to get along with everyone. He's so confident and charming... most athletes have this aura of charm to them. What does that say about you?

"What about you, prop?"

Titus puts an arm around you. "Glen here once beat 5 men in an arm-wrestling contest. All of them at once," An exaggerated story but technically true. "Bring a table and some chairs. He'll break your arms." You crack your knuckles to make a point. The team exchange glances and nod.

"Right now you're all talk. We'll see how you do on the field."

"Gladly."

Titus is confident because he's seen these guys play. He knows their strategies, who to look out for, who does what, how they work. There were countless nights spent after a game where Titus broke down the strategy of each game and you "studied" it together. He points out the flaws, fixes them, and uses it for his own benefit. He's smart like that, you think.

You change into your sports outfit and head out into the field. You do the obligatory warm-up stretches, jog, and practice. Nothing you haven't done before.

One of your teammates holds up a punching bag for you to tackle. You relax your shoulders and then go in for the hit. Your body collides with the bag and it sends the man behind it stumbling back.

"Oof. Blondie packs a punch!"

Oh great. You thought you got rid of that nickname with your old team. And of course, you pack a punch like what the hell? Can people not see your massive guns? You're almost tempted to flex them.

"Come on. Hit me again."

Another slam. The ground beneath your teammate moves back with him and makes a small hill of dirt.

"So you're not just here to look pretty, huh?"

Just so you know, he means this mockingly, not in a homosexual way. Don't get any ideas.

The third hit is the strongest, thanks to the taunting. He falls down on his ass and others turn to look at you. Titus gives you a thumbs up.

"Getting knocked down by the new guy already, Marty? Shit."

"If you're gonna be named after an animal that does a lot of knockin' down and stompin' then you better have a damn good prop, right?" Titus, hyping you up as usual. "Wait till you see him in a game," he whistles. "Y'all gonna be sleepin' sore tonight. Speakin' of which," He claps his hands together, a wicked grin narrows his eyes. "We playin' or what?"

Titus is excited to show these folks what he's got. He trusts you to make the two of you look good. Get mean, get angry... Get your game face on.


	20. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

One team divided into two, you spread across the field and take your position in the front line. This battle is different. You're no longer playing with the little fish. These people are professionals. You trust Titus's instructions as you would trust him with anything.

The game, as Titus expected, is predictable. He's seen their formation before. It became apparent to the people playing on your team. They knew then this was a win for them.

By the end of the war, you were covered in dirt and bruises. But you've made a good first impression. Titus shakes hands with the fly-half. "You're sharp, kid."

Titus Hardie smirks and begins to boast in his typical Hardie fashion. You can't help but laugh.

The good side of being a fan of the game is that Titus has an entire catalog of strategies collected from various teams all stored in the back of his head. If they went up against a rival he knows, he'll be able to make a counter plan.

This became evident in the next few games you played, real enemies, no practice. Before each game, Titus would take the board and write out a plan. Everyone sticks to the plan, you win. Anyone gets cocky and the whole thing goes in flames.

The team has grown to trust Titus as a leader fairly quickly thanks to his undeniable wits and charms. He's just that cool really. You live in his shadow, you always have. It's not so bad. As long as you get to crush some losers on the field then you're happy.

"Feels kinda surreal, don't it?" He looks at the lake, at something in the distance rocking with the water. His fishing line rests calmly in the water.

"Yeah."

"It's still ringin' in my ears," he shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips, a gentle smile graces his lips. "The people shoutin' for us. It's not like prizefightin'." The people cheering on the field are far friendlier and less aggressive. It's nothing like the old sweaty men who are all huddled up around a ring.

The boat creaks as the waves slam against the old wood. You're surprised this thing is still holding on after all these years. Titus takes good care of it. To the side of the boat, you can still see the engraving T.H and G.D. You peer over the wood and into your reflection in the water, oh how you've aged; your sunken eyes look lifeless. Your face is tired. You're twenty, basically twenty-one, and you look like you're centuries older. You seriously need to drink less and sleep more.

In your hand, you hold a net to help catch whatever fish that ends up getting caught in Titus's hook. Next to you is a bucket with a few fish, now dead. There are a few cans of beer on each side of the two of you, you take a sip every now and then.

Fishing is boring. You just sit there for hours on end and wait for something to happen. But you enjoy the time you spend with your friend. It makes the spaces between absolute nothingness and a catch more bearable.

The wind is harsh on the trees, carrying away their leaves only to leave them in the cold water or the lonely ground. It tugs on your hair but stands helpless against the hat that covers your best friend's head. It plays the fishing line like an instrument and keeps Titus busy adjusting the thin string along with the hook. The sky is without emotions, it's simply grey. The sun hides behind the clouds and yet lets her rays illuminate the world.

You hear a faint "bloop" as the float ball sinks, indicating that something has grabbed onto the bait. Titus tries to reel it in. The fish fights back, yanking on the line, making the young rowing enthusiast switch from letting the fish tug and him pulling so the line doesn't snap. The thing is vicious and doesn't accept defeat. It almost pulls the boat towards it with its strength.

"Woah." Your mouth is hung open and you grab on to the wood to keep balanced. Another pull from Titus, and an equally fierce one from the fish. His attention is divided between catching the fish and keeping the boat from tipping the boat over. You try to help Titus reel the fish in by keep him balanced with a good grip.

There's only so much the thin thread can take so when the fish is close enough, you quickly take the net and fish it out of the water. It jumps and continues to struggle, but slowly, the big thing calms down.

"Holy shit."

You're going to need a bigger bucket for the fish.

"A beauty, ain't she? Might actually sell this for somethin' good."

You're planning on keeping a few fish for dinner. Cook them over the fire while you camp outside. Tell scary stories in the dark... maybe wrestle a bit until you're tired enough to sleep. The perfect night. You've been aching for one of those... It's been so long since you've had one.

You pick the fish up from the net and with what little power it has left, it waggles in a desperate attempt to escape and return home to the water. You try to find a place for it in the bucket and in your attempt to do so, the fish ends up slapping you with its tail. There's a split moment of silence and then Titus's laugh echoes through the lake.

You huff. Your pride and dignity damaged by this fish. If it wasn't going to bring some good money into your pockets, this would have been the one you would have chosen to eat tonight.

The fish has long gone silent, but your companion is still slapping his knee, laughing at you so you grab each side of the boat and rock it.

"I'll tip you over!" Him, you, and all the fish you spent hours catching.

Titus puts his hand up and the other wipes away his joyful tears. "Okay, okay. Relax."

A couple of more fish and you're sailing back to land. By the time you reach shore, it's already sunset. You and Titus stand on the jetty to watch it.

It's a peaceful moment. You prepare yourself mentally for the sound of gunfire... But it never comes. Martinaise is lucky today.

You head back into town and sell your catch. The money is split evenly between the two of you, then you and Titus gather some wood to make your cozy little fire. The woods offer you parts of itself to burn and keep yourself warm. A few stones around the sticks help keep it contained and burning for longer. While you set the fire, Titus guts and cleans the fish and then the both of you grab a few sharp sticks and slide them between the fish's mouths and through the meat of their bellies, keeps them holding on tight while you roast them over the fire.

The flames crackle, small sparks ascend into the air and then vanish. The night wind is kind to your fire and isn't actively trying to smother it but you keep it going by adding more sticks every now and then. You and Titus make up stories about woodland creatures that may be lurking just out of sight and it makes for a good laugh at how dumb your imagination can be.

Then you fall back into the easy rhythm of talking about sports and girls while munching on that sweet crispy fish meat. Even if you don't like girls THAT way, you can still admire chicks with hot bods, a fine ass, and big tits.

When you're done, you keep the fire going for a bit more as you finish your beers, have a smoke and laugh the night away. It's those perfect nights that are now scaring you the most. If it's not the fear of ruining it, then it's the emotional pull you feel when you realize just how far you've sunk in his sea, and you continue to sink... further and further in love with him.

You swallow your feelings with root beer. You don't want to mess this up... You should call it a night now.

Filling the fish bucket with some water from the lake, you put the fire out and then head into your separate tents for the night.

The alcohol mixed in with fatigue makes it easy for you to drift away.

Tonight was the first time you've felt normal in such a long time.

"You're invited to lunch by me and Elliot."

"What?"

"Lunch. You, me, Elliot, and you can bring Titus. Actually would prefer it if you did."

You shift on the bed to look at the man, eyeing him with a mixture of confusion and anger.

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

Kurt shrugged. "Free food," Actually that was a really good point but he can see that he still hasn't won you over. "I know. You don't want Titus to know what we do here. It's our little secret," he gives you a quick peck. "My lips are sealed. But I just wanna meet him and Elliot wants to meet you."

You turn around and give him your back, pulling the blankets up over your head. "No."

Kurt kicks you, it makes you click your tongue in annoyance.

"Come on."

You try to ignore him but that's easier said than done. You could just leave. But God damn it this bed is comfortable.

"Just do this one thing for me." He whispers in your ear and fuck it, it's effective.

"Fine. Whatever. When?"

"Tomorrow?"

You just nod. The sooner the better. You just want this to be over with.

Kurt is smart enough to know to keep his mouth shut. You trust him too. He grins against your skin and wraps his arms around you. You don't like being the little spoon but you can't bring yourself to move away now. You just growl and then close your eyes.

"We should have a cover-up story about how we met. Can't tell your buddy we met at a party and fucked."

Good point.

You really would like to sleep. Work has been very exhausting but this is important. So you stay up for a while longer, making up stories about how you two just happen to meet. The easiest one was you met at the gym of course. Just two dudes chatting while lifting weights. Nothing strange about that, and Titus isn't gonna ask too many questions. At least... you hope he doesn't.  
The diner where Elliot works is extremely retro looking. The walls are a nice shade of pastel blue mixed with pastel pink. The floors are checkered and matching with the tables. There are photo frames of vintage articles, as well as a display of items you feel like belong to another dimension.

"This looks neat." Titus says next to you.

Eh. You're not really a fan of pastel.

You wait for Kurt but instead, you get approached by a lean dark-skinned man. He's small, it doesn't help that you and Titus are giants. You have to look down to be able to talk to him.

"Hello. My name is Elliot Larue," he puts his hand out. "You must be Titus Hardie," Titus shakes his hand with a friendly smile and then he turns to you. "And you're Glen."

It just dawned on you how awkward this is. You're basically meeting the boyfriend of the guy you fuck. You wonder how he feels about that. There doesn't seem to be any ill will in the man's soft bright green eyes. He looks so fragile. You've been around too many masculine males that you've forgotten how the regular folks look like. You shake his small hand, and it's engulfed in your gigantic grip. He seems happy regardless.

You notice then the freckles that dot his cheeks and nose. He wears earrings on both ears. You have earrings but you never really wear them. Not very masculine. Most of the time it's easy to just hide them under your hair anyway.

Like Kurt, the boy has light brown hair, short, shaved from the sides. It's a lot messier than Kurt's hair. While the athlete has his hair spiked up, this one is just a bird's nest. It has its charms though.

He beckons you to follow him and you do. He takes the two of you to a table. It has one long padded couch against the wall, then a table, then two more chairs on the other side.

"Take a seat and I'll be with you shortly."

Elliot is very soft spoken and it matches his elegant appearance. He gives you another smile before leaving.

"So that's your buddy's buddy, right?" Titus asks as he sits on the comfy looking couch. You join him.

"I guess. Never seen him before."

"Doesn't look like a gym guy to me."

You shrug. "Thought we'd honestly crush him if we shook his hand too tight."

Titus chuckles. "Yeah. We seriously need more feminine company."

The two of you munch on some delicious breadsticks as you wait for Kurt to arrive or Elliot to return. It takes a while but the football player arrives, wearing a leather brown jacket with some stickers of a different variety on it, most of them are just sports related. He smiles at the two of you before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table.

"Kurt. Haven't seen you in a long time!" Titus greets and they shake hands.

"Yeah. Really miss watching you play."

"Could say the same. Thanks for inviting us."

This all sounds too formal. You hate this part when meeting someone. You just wanna skip all this and get to stuffing your face with food and chugging down beer.

"I'm surprised you and Glenny get along."

Kurt looks at you, you look at him. God fucking damn it! This feels so awkward.

"I wouldn't say we get along but more Like," he gestures vaguely. "We have a mutual understanding."

Titus blinks and tilts his head. Okay, you're ready to go home now... But then he grins. "I get it. He's a tough person to be around. It's all for show though," He slaps you on the back, hard. You almost cough. "Glenny here is one of the best people you'll ever meet."

Kurt smiles at you, something about the way his brows twitch tells you that there's a sadness behind the tug of his lips. You don't understand why, but it's because he can see that Titus loves you, and it hurts him to see you waste your happiness away.

"I know," he finally says. "He's just really dumb."

Titus laughs. "He sure is."

"Hey! Fuck you, guys."

Elliot returns and takes a seat next to Kurt. The football player wraps an arm around him and you're not sure how the smaller man is carrying the weight of Kurt's biceps.

"I take that you guys met my boyfriend, Elliot?"

Oh, you did not expect him to just say that. You glance at Titus from the corner of your eyes. His expression is indifferent.

"Yep." He says simply.

"Ordered food for us. Got all the best things on the menu and of course refillable beer."

"A man after my own heart."

Okay? They're just going to gloss over the conversation. Alright. Good.

You spend the next fifteen minutes arguing about the best sports teams while Elliot simply listens. He's not as into sports as you guys, you can tell. But he seems interested enough to hear you go on about it.

"I'm going to check on the food. It's probably done." He says and then excuses himself. Kurt watches him go and then turns back to you. The conversation continues and doesn't quiet down even when Elliot returns with cheesy French fries, pizza, and some of the biggest burgers you've ever seen. Extra cheese and very thick meat. 4 big glasses of beer, onion rings, and even some calamari. Now you can dig this.

It's hard to keep the contents of the burger from falling out the other side as you dig your teeth into the bread but you don't care, and honestly, all four of you are equally messy eaters, even Elliot who looked too delicate to be tearing into his food like this. This was like watching someone try to eat a sloppy joe and honestly it was disgusting but the food is great.

You talk about music and have different opinions on what good music is. You like rock and metal, Titus is alright with rock but more of the post-hardcore type, he mostly listens to whatever as long as it's good and suits his mood. Could be psychedelic pop for all he cares. Kurt likes Ariana Grande and he's not ashamed of it, and Elliot likes indie music.

You've had 3 glasses of beer and you're going in for the fourth. Your plates have been emptied and your bellies filled.

After you finish your fourth glass of beer, the four of you decide you're going to get too loud for the diner so you leave.

"Night is still young. Wanna go back to the lake?"

You haven't told Kurt that you live there yet. But maybe it's time? You swallow down the uneasy feeling in your stomach and nod. "Sure." It's the only place you can party in peace after all.

The lake greets you with the sound of waves. The moon reflects on the dark water and illuminates it. Kurt and Elliot spend some time looking at the scenery.

"Glen lives just over there." Titus points in the direction of the shack, hidden behind the greenery of trees.

"Nice place to be in.” Kurt walks over to the jetty to look at the boat.

"This baby took us across the lake many times," Titus pats her. "Been with me since I was just a kid. I try my best to keep her goin' but she don't got much life left in her..." there's a sadness in his voice as he speaks. Kurt doesn't miss it.

"Sorry to hear that. Somethings just can't be replaced."

Titus nods. "Yeah. But she's been a good gal," he points at the plank with your initials. "Glen and I added that sometime after we met. Guess I always knew I wanna grow up with that bastard."

It was personal. He was sharing something very dear to him with you.

"Instant connection."

Another nod. "You can say that."

You're not sure what to add to this conversation. It's a mix of awkwardness and having a hard time opening up. But a part of you is happy to hear Titus say these things about you.

A while later you grab the radio from the shack and you let the music fill the air around you.

"Love this song!" Kurt grins.

You turn up the volume as the quarterback approaches his smaller lover and offers him his hand. Elliot gladly accepts and they begin dancing.

Titus gestures with his head to the dance floor. It's funny how the brain works; you know Kurt and Elliot don't care. They're not gonna judge or call you any names or degrade you. They're dancing happily and Titus wants to join in. That's it. He wants you to be his dancing partner… so why are you more anxious about it than you’ve been about dancing with him at the party? Or any other time?

Can't believe I'm telling you this but, I think you should shut your brain down and just go ham. You know.... balls to the walls. Just let yourself have fun.

He's waiting.

You nod and the two of you join Elliot and Kurt, then it's just you, Titus, and the music.

You dance through Tame Impala, Glass Animals, MISSIO, Smallpools, and Slenderbodies, till the late night when you feel tipsy from the drinking, and your feet hurt from dancing. That was fun, but you can tell it's time for Kurt and Elliot to go home. It was getting too dark.

"We should do this again sometimes."

Titus nodded and shook their hands. "It was nice seein' you again, Kurt."

"Pleasure was all mine, Titus. Oh, and congratulations on becoming a part of the Rhinos."

You wave goodbye to the couple and they take their leave.

"Nice folks."

"Yeah." You pick up the empty beer cans.

"It's good you're makin' friends. I know it must be borin' without me around sometimes."

Wow, that actually makes you realize how sad and pathetic you are. Not that you didn't know it before but even Titus acknowledges the fact that he's your only friend. Ouch.

Of course, you have nothing to say to that so you just keep picking up whatever garbage you can carry. Titus helps out.

"I know Kurt and I didn't talk much but I didn't expect him to find someone like Elliot."

He doesn't mean another guy. He means someone with Elliott's elegance.

"You seemed pretty cool about it."

"About what?"

You shrug. "That he's dating Elliot."

"Why wouldn't I be? Its good people are still findin' love here in Martinaise."

Titus is chill with it, you know he is.

But this is love, not sex. It's different, you think. Yeah, you're right. This is sex with feelings, morning cuddles, and breakfast in bed. Holding hands, kissing. You know? The good things. Not a temporary high and then depression. You should try it sometimes.

"Would you," you pause to scratch the back of your head. "I mean, I know you said you fucked guys but would you... date one?"

Titus tilts his head. "That's a dumb question."

You're not sure if he means dumb "yes" or dumb "hell no."

He smiles, it's comforting and could put the heaviest hearts at ease. Titus Hardie wouldn't want to settle down with just anyone. Sex with the same person for the rest of his life? You know that's not him. But he wouldn't mind living out the rest of his life with you. That means something.

Imagine, waking up every morning next to him; kissing under the blankets, trying to make breakfast together, working out, having jobs, sharing a home. It's a lot like what you do right now without the feeling like shit part. You can be happy like Kurt and Elliot.

"Did you think I just wanted sex?" He chuckles. "I get sex from anyone. But," another nervous chuckle and he scratches his cheek. "Us? We're different, man. We got that whole instant connection thing."

He's trying to say he loves you but by dancing around the words which is an incredibly bad tactic with someone like you because you're not that bright and reading between the lines is a none existent skill for you. Bet you're glad you have me to translate all this weird feeling shit to you, huh?

Smile back. Say something. Don't leave him hanging.

Wait I gotta search the cabinets of your mind to help you form a sentence...

Lots of vulgar words in these cabinets.

Lots of dark thoughts.

Aha! Here we go.

"I guess we do," you smile back. "Whatever the fuck that means."

The two of you laugh and bring the trash back into the cabin where you can safely dispose of it. Then he lies down and you lie down next to him. His hooded eyes always seem to put you in a trance, your reflection is hidden behind the fields of grass and the muddy brown lands all swirling in his hazel orbs.

Do you feel brave tonight?

You turn to your side and he watches you carefully. When you lean in, he meets you halfway. His lips welcome you back as if you were always meant to be here, at home with him. You move slowly, and you're surprised that you can't taste the liquor on his lips. It's just the pure flavor of him, and it's like a slice of God's golden heaven. Despite how many times you've kissed now, you still long for more of him. You never want your lips to part. But alas...

He opens his eyes, you open yours, and the two of you laugh.

You wish it could always be like this.

He puts his hand on your cheek, and with love you thought humans can't possess, he moves the strands of your hair behind your ears before letting his palm rest on your neck, thumb caressing your jaw. You turn your head and kiss the skin of his hand. He looks at you like nothing else matters. You've never known love this pure.

You put your hand over his and you can't help but laugh at how ridiculous this whole thing is. "This is so stupid and cheesy."

"Yeah, well, shut up."

Don't ruin such a perfect moment with your big mouth.

You don't want to get up but you can't just sleep on the floor so you force yourself apart and grab some pillows and a blanket. Now you can sleep on the floor.

But you don't. You're not tired enough yet. So you talk about whatever, and every now and then your hands would brush against one another. He wraps his pinky around yours and you pretend like nothing is happening under the sheets. You just focus on him.

Every day could be like this if you just ask him to stay. You'll take the job at the docks and you'll make the shack bigger. Maybe you can even get a dog.

You don't think you're ready yet. You're still thinking about your career. There's still so much to lose. Now is just not the right time... but tonight, you've had a taste of what could be, a taste of happiness and love... never forget that.


	21. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**  
(2 years later)

The wind sends the waves crashing against the metal plates of ships, sleeping peacefully in the docks. Birds fly overhead, unbothered by the sound of men grunting and yelling. The longshoremen are hard at work, feet stomping on the pavement as they rush to the newly arrived cargo ship, waiting to be unloaded. Among the crowd of men is a twenty-two year old you and twenty-five year old Titus Hardie, having gotten this new job that feels not that much different than what you used to do. You hear the sound of cranes above your head while other workers try to secure the ship while others go up the gangway and onto the ship. Titus is holding a clipboard with a list of items that the ship contains. As the men unload the cargo, he ticks them off the list, and then the cargo is inspected. You, of course, help with the heavy lifting.

When you're done with that, you and Titus usually prefer to take a walk around the dock to see if there's anything you can help with or anything that needs maintenance. You're pretty handy with a blowtorch, and your previous job was a great experience that has helped you prepare for this one. Plus, this job pays better and you get benefits that include having your medical bills paid so in case you end up... maybe... possibly getting into a fight with someone, breaking their bones, it's fine.

Titus lifts his hat and wipes the sweat from his forehead before putting it back on. Despite your bodies being drenched, the weather is actually pretty cold, hence why you're wearing a comfy dockworker's beanie. You hear your stomach growl and Titus chuckles. "Yeah. I could use a bite to eat too."

This job is exhausting but it's nothing you can't handle. Just something to fill in the time between your Rugby matches. Besides, it's always good to make some extra cash on the side. You've been trying to renovate the shack a bit, get a trophy cabinet for all the gold you're getting, humble brag. Sadly, shit ain't cheap in Martinaise. You blame the rich. No, you're not jealous of them. You genuinely despise them. All they are are greasy snobs who run over the weak for their own benefit, just to fill their pockets with even more cash, and they think giving the workers an extra penny or two is generous of them when they could save Martinaise from poverty if they wanted to.

You've always hated businesses that exploit the condition of the town and the poverty of the people, their desperation to just survive. You had hoped the situation of your hometown would improve over the years, that something good was going to happen, that maybe the town would strike gold... but no. The people are just as poor as they have ever been.

You've heard stories of people killing their children when they couldn't afford to feed them, or even killing themselves just so their kids could live or have some meat to eat for an extra day or two. It's fucked up. You realize then that you were kind of lucky. Your dad was shit, and sometimes, yeah, he did try to kill you... but you're alive today.

Of course, the police are still very unconcerned by the state of Martinaise. The only sign that Elysium still remembers Martinaise is the dock. Those ships coming and going with cargo, they're the only sign of life Martinaise has to give the world. It's the only cry the outside is willing to hear.

It's not long before the sound of loud horns declares the arrival of the next ship. It's time to rush back.

Hour after hour of the same thing, loading this, checking on that, carrying this, and putting it there. The company of others makes the job better; The longshoremen love to crack a couple of jokes to raise morale. You share stories and waste time and at the end of the day, you drink to another job well done.

You pick up your duffle bags from the locker room, shower, and clock out for the day.

"Man," Titus sighs. "I feel pretty bad for Pat. Losin' his only kid." Patrick, one of the workers was telling the story of how he lost his son to gang wars. You can't imagine how hard it must have been to see the corpse of his own flesh and blood. No one could offer him anything but a sympathetic smile and a few pats on the back, but what good would that do though? It won't bring his son back, it's simply momentary comfort. "Wish there was a way we could stop shit like this from happenin'."

You can't think of a way. You and Titus have your own shit to deal with anyway. You should focus on your survival before the survival of others.

See, this is the difference between you and Titus. He will always put others first. You only think about yourself. You can't see the bigger picture here. Anyway, I'm here to tell a story not to judge your morality.

The two of you stop at a shop to grab something to eat. Remember to shop local, support small businesses. Not only does it keep our corporate overlords at bay but it also helps the people of Martinase survive. As good as an extra cheesy beefy pizza sounds right now, you buy some home-cooked meals. You like them sometimes. You can't really cook yourself, all you have is frozen food in the fridge. Plus, home-cooked meals have something that you can't get from big-name diners... love, and also a soul. Granny just knows how to make it taste better.

There's a set of swings on your way home, you and Titus decide to swing on it for a bit while you munch on your bread. It's stuffed with meat, tomatoes, cheese, and minced onion. It's kind of oily but you don't mind. It's fucking tasty as hell. Titus seems to be enjoying his meal too. The cheese is still hot and does that little stretchy thing that you love doing when you eat pizza.

The swings creak as you kick your legs back and forth with the wind. After a long day of work, you're grateful for the cold.

Titus is in the middle of retelling a story he overheard from the workers about some guy tripping out on drugs and ending up falling onto a construction site where he eventually got buried beneath the concrete without anyone knowing. They only found out after the building had been demolished. What a sad fate.

You and Titus try to have rules when it comes to drugs and getting wasted. There's an "enough" line. You should NEVER get completely hammered unless one of you is sober enough to look after the other. You hit on women but you can never touch them without consent. You're a monster but you'll never be known for harassing women. That's one monster you would rather die than be. Even you have that much dignity.

Your father, may he rot in hell, used to have women home when you were younger. He was as merciless with them as he was with you. You pity them. Perhaps they're doing better now, or perhaps they've met a terrible fate. Seeing the type of beast he was has made you cautious, for that, you can at least be grateful.

You finish your meal and the comforting satisfaction of having your hunger eradicated feels wonderful. Compliments to the chef. Wiping your hands on your clothes sounds like a bad idea so you do the logical thing by sucking your fingers clean first AND THEN wiping them on your clothes. Titus claps his hands together and rubs until his hands are dry enough to clean on his pants. A smart fellow.

The view from where you're sitting is calming, it soothes your demons. There's a land spread before you, white, filled with snow. A few patches of green poke out here and there like cracks through the field of pureness, and the moon makes itself known to you. The bright orb has not yet made its journey fully up the sky. The world above is painted pink and blue. The line of trees fades the further your sight travels until you are sure there's no life just past the area that the swings overlook. You don't see anything when you go higher, at least, nothing interesting. Just an open area. You slow down and eventually stop. Titus looks at you with a childish grin. He's glad you're having fun.

This brings back memories of you and Titus when you were just kids. You would taunt him by saying you can go higher than him. As you elevated, you could feel the wind against your body through the holes in your old tattered clothes. The two of you would make a bet on who could swing higher up. Those were the little things that helped you survive back then.

Suddenly it wasn't the cold that was making you shiver, but the memory of a home that no longer belongs to you and a monster that you've slain but it refuses to leave you. Its cold lifeless grip remains tight around you and it has no intention of letting go... Ever. You wish you could kill it a million times over till it leaves but alas, you must simply learn to live with it. The thing with trauma, anxiety, and depression, Glen, is that it never leaves. You don't heal. The pieces of yourself that you've lost, you can never get them back. You don't forget. You just adapt. It sucks but it is what it is.

You stay for a while longer, trying to find peace once again, until darkness consumes the world around you, and then Titus decides to head home. "Gotta be up early tomorrow. See you back at the dock."

You nod and he waves goodbye before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away. You go the other path, back to your shack on the lake. The waves welcome you home. You would miss them more if they weren't the only sound you hear all day. You see a figure waiting in the shadows by your home and approach carefully. They raise their hand when they notice you, a friendly greeting. They meet you halfway and you realize then that the shadowy being was none other than Kurt.

"Hey, man."

You tilt your head and look around. "What are you doin' here?"

"Nothing. Just wanted to see if you're free to talk for a bit."

You should rest, you have work tomorrow. But Kurt looks like he could use some company, so you sigh and unlock the door to your shack. The lights flicker as you switch them on and Kurt closes the door behind you.

"Guess the little guy is workin' late tonight?" You ask. Obviously, if Elliot was free, Kurt wouldn't be here.

"Yeah. We've both been working extra shifts."

There's something more he wants to say but he's not sure how to bring it up. You and Kurt have stopped sleeping together. When he was a stranger it was easy to do it but now you consider him and Elliot your friends. This was a mutual decision, no hard feelings.

"Anyway," Whatever he was going to say, he decided not to say it. "How's work?"

You shrug. "Same old, same old. "

Kurt has recently started a new job too, a bartender. He nudges you and with a very cheerful voice goes, "how's Titus doing?"

You punch him on the arm with enough force to make him rub the spot in pain. "Fine."

"Can't believe the two of you are still dancing around each other. When are you gonna ask him out? Come on, man. We could go on double dates!"

"Shut up! Don't say dumb shit like that."

He rolls his eyes. "Shit, forgot that Titus is the level headed one here. I'm gonna talk to him instead."

You grab the athlete by his shirt and press your faces together. "Don't you fuckin' dare."

"Relax. I was just joking. Sheesh," You shove him away and he fixes his shirt. "You have some serious problems, Dixon," what else is new? "Whatever though, you got something in that fridge of yours that we can drink?"

You crack open a few beers and talk the night away, every now and then there's an awkward pause where you think he would say something, he would blackout for a moment, and then go on by talking about something else. He's not drunk or high or anything. You just don't recognize a nervous person when you see one. You still got to work a bit more on your own emotions and feelings before you can identify them in others.

"Thanks for the talk," he says, finishing up the last bit of his beer. "Got to run. Elliot is probably home and waiting for me."

"Sure." You got to get some sleep anyway.

You lock the door after he leaves and shut the lights off.

Tomorrow is another day.

The docks are great at this time in the morning. You and Titus arrive earlier than the other workers, a bit before when you're supposed to clock in. You sit by the edge of one of the walls and watch the giant cargo ships stand against the tides. The sky is a dark orange and purple and what little sun is shown is reflected in the water.

Titus shares his breakfast with you. Some toasts with eggs and bacon with a bed of cheese spread on the toast, and fresh orange juice to start the day. Titus picks up breakfast from some old lady with a nice small bakery. She often makes croissants as well. They have all sorts of things inside as a filling. You like the chocolate ones but so do most of the kids you have to fight so you can grab one.

"I'mma be honest with you, Glenny," Titus says as he takes a bite from his sandwich. "I think it's just gonna be me and Tibbs soon. Mom's gettin' old."

"Nah," you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. "Your mom is tough as nails, man."

"Yeah, but we all grow up and die someday."

You hope you don't die old. If you're gonna die you want it to be epic. You don't wanna just get sick and lie on a deathbed.

"I told her to go with Tibbs to the hospital. She's not lookin' too good."

You look down at the water, unsure of what to say. There's really nothing to say so you settle for, "that sucks."

"Yeah. Hope she can tell dad that I'm a great rugby player now. And that I made it to the rowin' club and got to be captain."

He doesn't sound sad when he says that. You don't know what happens after death if there's really a Dolores Dei or some other higher power, you're not sure if you're a believer. If there is a mightier being out there then they're no better than cops. They just sit there and let people suffer. They let you suffer. You wonder if the higher being is just a sadistic fuck like you. If they get enjoyment out of watching their creations struggle to live and get by. Even you have some sympathy left in your heart, how can they not? Those are kids dying out on the street.

Perhaps something great awaits them after death.

You're scared of there being nothing after death so the thought of reuniting with your family and friends sounds better to you than just an abyss of nothingness for the rest of eternity. Not that there's a family waiting, at least you hope not. You wonder if you would see your mom and if she would even recognize you... what would you even say to her? You haven't really thought about that before. Are you someone she can be proud of like Titus's father? Probably not.

Titus gets up and brushes the dust off his pants. "Well, it's time to get to work. The ships will have to leave soon."

You nod and the two of you finally clock in.

The men pool in and you start another day. Titus is in charge of the clipboard again, announcing to the men what they're about to carry on to the ship while also making sure nothing gets damaged. Titus gets clipboard duty not only because he's got a sharp eye, can manage and divide a team to check the cargo as it gets loaded/unloaded, and all the other good qualities he's got... But because he can actually read. Something most the men here can't do, including yourself. You don't mind. You think Titus got the boring job. You get to lift shit. It's basically a free workout.

Another uninteresting day at work. You watch the final ship depart and take your usual round around the dock to check on the cargo containers that were emptied out yesterday. Maintenance is important. You don't want a repeat of what happened at your old workplace.

Memories of walking down these paved grounds flood your mind. You remember Titus and yourself climbing over the wall to sneak in late at night, have some beer on top of the containers you now are tasked with fixing, and being chased off by security guards. Oh, how you've grown.

"You get this one, I'll get the blue one."

The two of you split and you fix your hair, tying it again to make sure it won't catch on fire as you lower your mask before letting the blowtorch roll, flames birth sparks that bloom like flowers before fading into the air. Even with the sound of fire crackling, the thundering shouts of the longshoremen are vibrant and overpower the sparks. Despite that, you can't make out what they're saying. Probably just calling for other workers to head here or there, or pick up some shit.

They don't stop, not till night comes around. You're just about done when you hear something thud. You stop the blowtorch and lift your mask. It's just one of the workers leaning against the container, having a smoke.

"Got one extra?" You ask and he looks up at you. He's mean looking but so is every man on this job. You notice the tattoos on his neck and arms but they don't really concern you. You just want a cigarette.

"Maybe when you're older, kid."

"In that case, you shouldn't be smokin', old man. Your deadbeat lungs might not be able to handle it."

He laughs then lifts his hand to give you the cigarette. You lean over the container to grab it. The two of you smoke in silence. The man up in his office can probably see you, you've heard that he sees everything and hears everything which means he's got fucking rats that snitch back to him... or cameras. Whatever it is, it's gonna tell him that you're having a smoke instead of finishing up your work.

You exhale and blow into the air, watching the cloud above you fade into the sky before sticking your cig back into your mouth.

"Hey, you wanna be done today and go home or you just gonna sit there and smoke?"

You look down at Titus who was standing with his hands on his hips like a disappointed mother.

Taking a quick drag, you put out the cigarette and Titus nods to himself then looks at the man who puts up his hand, faking innocence.

"I'm done for the day, little boss man." He's mocking Titus but he ignores him.

"Hurry up."

You put your mask back on and put the finishing touches on your masterpiece. Titus waits at a safe distance while the man finishes his smoke then stomps it out and walks away with the young Hardie glaring daggers at him. When you're done, you climb down and wipe your face with your arm. Same routine as yesterday, you go back to the locker room, shower, grab your shit and leave.

The night has just begun so the two of you decide to go to the bar and have a few drinks. Something to unwind after another long day of work. You get a discount at the bar which is cool, and it also encourages your alcoholism.

In the background, behind the combined chattering and laughter of drunken folks, you can hear the radio playing throughout the bar. There's a game on, a hockey game. You thought if you weren't so into rugby, you would definitely be a good hockey player. Slamming dudes into walls? Come on, that's totally your thing. You're also a pretty good skater. Titus doesn't share your enthusiasm for skating, he's more of a sea kind of guy rather than snow. Fishing, not skating.

A few women pass by and you watch Titus eye them with a playful grin. He better not skip out on you and try to get laid. He's done that before, of course. And you can't really blame him. If you could, you would do the same. You look around at the men in the bar, you recognize some of them from work. This is where the workers usually gather. The other group of men look like snarky businessmen. Definitely not your type.

You think about whether you prefer petit fair men or rough and tough guys. This is like wondering whether you prefer to fuck Kurt or Elliot. Obviously, you fucked Kurt... But would you fuck Elliot...? Hypothetically speaking, of course. (Or ask Kurt for a threesome, wink wink)

You like the idea of being the man in charge. With someone small like Elliot, it's a guarantee that you'll be the dominant one. You switch sometimes with Kurt. Being a bottom was... interesting. It's not your preferred position. But you don't completely hate it. You'd never admit that out loud though. Obviously, you like Titus too. A big strong man who can take a thrashing. You also like a guy who can fight back. The thrill of a good spar during sex always makes your dick hard so you're definitely more into buff dudes. Maybe you should try it with a more feminine guy every now and then, just for a nice change.

When you look back at Titus you notice him already looking at you with that playful grin still spread on his face.

"What?" You blurt out.

"Nothin'." He hums before taking a sip of his drink.

Oh, he knows you were checking some fellas out. If you're lucky, maybe the two of you can get laid tonight.

"See anythin' you fancy?" He says, going back on the 'nothing' from just from a few seconds ago.

Well, you fancy him. A quick scan of the room again tells you that none of these men hold a dime to the god sat next to you. Rome was always praised for its beauty.

If you asked him, he would go back to your place and the two of you could get it on! Awooooo! You just have to give him one of those really terrible pick-up lines you use on women, like, "yeah, I'm staring at him." Or whatever the fuck. Come on, have I ever let you down? Trust me. I'm a great wingman!

You focus back on your drink and chug down the rest of it before shaking your head (completely ignoring me, I see). "Think I just fancy another glass." You lift your glass to the bartender and he fills it up. Titus finishes his and has the man pour him seconds.

"You never did tell me what you like."

You're not drunk enough for this. Maybe you and him can have this conversation after the fourth glass.

There's nothing to do but shrug.

He flips his chair so he's sitting with his back to the counter and facing the open bar, looking at the people who are too indulged in their beverages and conversations to pay him any attention. You look at him from the corner of your eyes, brow arched, interested in what he's about to do.

He gestures with his head towards one of the tables. "Short brown hair, green eyes. He has a mole on one of his fingers"

You turn to look at the man. He looks about your age; lean, tall, sharp cheekbones, long face, almond eyes, cherry lips, and short hair with a fade. Not bad. He's sitting with a few others; two women and another guy, chatting happily about whatever.

"Gives one hell of a blowjob."

Oh.

"And he will ride your dick like a cowboy."

Interesting.

Titus takes a sip. "Not really my type but the sex was good."

You wonder... what's his type?

"Well," you scratch the back of your head. "What's your type then?"

He looks at you with that smug smile and then simply goes, "I like blondes." Then he's back to watching the crowd, leaving your mind to scream into the abyss.

He did that on purpose, didn't he? He's just fucking with you. That asshole!

You can't stop yourself from gulping down your drink, your throat suddenly feels like the Sahara desert.

I don't understand why you're even surprised at this point. You've fucked, you've kissed, he's shown interest. What more do you need? You're not gonna say I love you and he's not gonna say I love you. Literally, fuck you both.

You're thinking 'well, you're the narrator. Why can't you just have us have some more steamy sex?'

Because I'm a narrator, idiot. I only tell the story. You write it.

'You said you know how it ends.' I hear you say.

Yes, I do.

'How does it end?'

No, no, no! What did we say about spoilers? No one likes them. Just enjoy the moment right now. You're here, Titus is here, and the two of you can have a great night together so don't let that go to waste. Focus on the here and now.

"Now you gotta tell me what you like."

You take a bit to think about an answer and then shrug again. "Guess I'm still figurin' it out. But as long as he can handle my fist." You put your fists up. It makes Titus laugh.

"You're a kinky son of a gun, Glen Dixon." He claps you on the back.

Maybe he'd like to see that sometimes.

You have a couple more drinks before you decide to call it a night and you head back to your place. Titus is a bit too drunk to really go home alone especially because you've heard about some violent folks out on the streets from the bartender. "Stay safe," he said. "Some guys walking around beating people to death with metal pipes and shit."

Luckily you don't come across anything like that but you'd punch some fear into these kids if you did. Drunken courage. Could be a fatal mistake.

Regardless, you and Titus are in the safety of your shack now.

You stare at the ceiling from where you lie on the floor with Titus breathing calmly next to you. He shifts closer and you don't move away.

"Can I tell you somethin', Glenny?"

You blink at how absurd that question was. Of course he can. He can tell you anything. You will take it with you to the grave. "Sure."

He looks at you, eyes sparkling in the dim light. "Sometimes I think about how we're gonna make it someday and it scares me."

Titus Hardie? Scared? He must be really drunk to admit that. But you've been hammered worse before... you envy his ability to just blurt out what he thinks. You wish you had the same freedom. You'd never be able to admit you're afraid too.

"I'm scared I'll go back home tomorrow and mom will be dead. I'm scared one day Tibbs isn't gonna be there either. I'm scared one day you won't be there."

You jump up. "That's dumb, T. I'll always be here with you. No matter what."

He smiles, the sadness is undeniable. "I know." He means someday you could catch a bullet. But regardless he's reassured. "Do you ever think about shit like that and feel scared?"

He took the first step. It's time for you to follow.

You shrug and lie back down, scooting closer to him until your bodies are pressed together, exchanging warmth under the covers. "I guess."

"What's your biggest fear?"

Wow. Big question. Obvious answer.

It's hard for you to admit. Hard for you to hear the answer in your own head and imagine saying it out loud.

There's something very wrong with you. You know there's nothing to be scared of with Titus. You trust him with your life and he trusts you with his. He's not going to judge you or think any less of you, and yet you can't bring yourself to be weak in front of him? If there's one person in the world with whom you can be yourself with, it's him. What say you?

"I don't know..." you inhale sharply and take a minute to think about how to word your weaknesses. You split your chest open, your heart is exposed. "I'm scared of losin' you, I guess."

He laughs. You immediately regret your words.

"Funny. We're on the same boat then."

There's a child-Like joy when he wraps his arms around you and hugs you. You smile like an idiot as you hug back. You are rewarded for your sincerity. Isn't that great?

One minute you feel like dirt and the other he makes you feel like the most important person in the world. You're a lucky man, Glen Dixon.

And with him close to you it's easy for you to close your eyes and find peace to the sound of him breathing, a melody of heartbeats and rise and falls of your rhythmic chests, matching the distant waves of the lake.

You dream of a greener land, clear of snow, and a brighter sun with no clouds. Her rays are as bright as your golden hair. You dream of happiness you've never known and never experienced, of matching hearts and heart-filled laughter.

Perhaps one day...

You rarely ever have nice dreams. You only remember the darkness or your nightmares. You can only hope your dreams remain joyful until the sun kisses your eyes good morning.


	22. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a long one! 20 chapters, wow! Who would have thought we'd make it this far. It's really been a journey. We started writing Memento Mori at the end of Jan this year, so we've been working on this story for almost a year now. I don't think I've ever been more in love with something I've created. It's certainly a journey. For those reading, thank you for taking this journey with us.

**Chapter 20**

"Come on, ladies. Harder!"

Nothing like starting your day by slamming into the rock-solid bodies of other perfectly fit men while the space around you is filled with sweat and grunts. Tension is rising. Another smack, skin against skin, louder than before. Your body can handle it. Actually, you're kind of into this.

No, I'm not describing an orgy, Glen Dixon. Get your mind out of the gutter. I'm sure you'd love to have a gangbang with all these fine gentlemen but keep your head in the game!

Push.

You and the loosehead prop battle it out in a game and push and shove. Your head against his firm shoulder, his head against yours, while the two of you have your backs bent along with your legs, kicking dirt and grass behind you in waves.

"Nicely done."

You finally break apart and fix your back. Phew, It was getting kind of awkward choosing between staring at the ground or gazing sensually at your fellow prop.

"Might wanna tie that hair of yours better," he says, pretending like he's picking locks of your hair from his tongue. "Gets in my eyes and mouth."

He can have something else in his mouth if he doesn't shut up. Something that will surely jam his mouth and I'm not talking about a subway sandwich if you know what I mean. Ayoooo dick jokes. 

Anyway, my amazing humor aside, you're kind of moody recently. You haven't banged anyone in a while and it's making you aggressive again. You should look into having casual hookups, also known as one night stands. You can't imagine being in a committed relationship, not with strangers anyway. You would go as far as to say that you don't believe in love. Sex is always the end goal. Why else would you want to be with someone, right? Family? Marriage? That shit just ain't you.

Now, I can shatter your entire world in one word, but I'm not going to because I'm hoping you'll figure out just how dumb you are on your own. See, I can say this shit about you without the fear of you beating me up. What are you going to do? You can't touch this. Literally.

"Great work today, boys," that means practice is over. You dust the dirt from your shirt and end up only smearing more mud onto your face when you try to wipe it with the back of your hand. "Now go shower, you smell like piss."

Not heeding much attention to your coach's insults, you all make a dash to the locker room where the usual mischief goes down. Dudes smacking the ass of other dudes with rolled towels, steamy hot showers where you try not to look at other people's junk. Ah, the homoerotic nature of the men's locker room. Somehow you guys could jerk each other off, say it's a joke, and believe it.

You know, I could go in-depth about how it's funny that athletes are usually the most closed-minded, most misogynistic people on the planet while they are also guilty of participating in homoerotic scenarios and being the gayest fucks out there. Have you ever thought about how fucking gay sports as a whole is? My guy, you're literally all chasing balls. And when you're not chasing balls, you're all wrapped up in one another for scrums. You can admit that part of why you like this game is because you get to get physical with other men. 

How else do you validate your masculinity while simultaneously being homo other than beating other men on the field so they can't make fun of you for liking dick. 

Even Titus takes notice of how hard your dick gets when you get into fights.

And yet, somehow, if you just said 'Hey, I'm gay.' they will have the audacity to shame you, make fun of you, humiliate you, and proceed to kick you off the team or force you to quit. Life just ain't fair.

Regardless, you get your ass smacked by the one person you will allow to touch you that way. Titus laughs from next to you before he turns the water on. You try not to side glance too much so no one takes notice but god damn, Titus Hardie is a sculpture made by the graceful hands of Praxiteles, Lysippos, and all these other great Roman sculptors. Oh, the image of various men with their hands all over him, crafting him, shaping his body. Is it suddenly hot in here or is it just me?

"You alright?"

"Huh?"

We've been compromised!

"You seemed a little hostile out there," he chuckles. "more than usual, I mean."

You shrug before rubbing the dirt off your shoulders and moving your hair back and away from your face. "Just givin' it my best."

"Yeah, well, don't go breakin' your own teammate's bones. You wanna do that? You do it to the other team."

You nod.

Someone passes behind you. "You two queers looking at each other's dicks?"

Everyone in the room laughs.

"Just having a conversation in the shower, Stan. We can do that without needing to measure dicks." Titus replies. You can never understand how he keeps his calm when people talk shit to him.

"Sure. Have fun, ladies."

You feel angered and embarrassed but you know better than to pick a fight right now.

"You got everythin' packed for our trip tomorrow?" You glance at Titus as he lifts his head to let the water slide down his body. Oh, yikes. Focus! He's asking about the trip you and the boys planned last week. You want to go hiking, a little fun activity that requires some bonding and teamwork. Also good for workouts and staying fit. Titus already has a plan which includes waking everyone up before sunrise for a jog, morning workouts, and maybe he'll even use his hunting skills to catch lunch, who knows?

"Yeah," you finally reply. "you?"

"For sure."

You take one last quick sweet look at the body of god before you turn off the water and shake your head, your hair splashing water everywhere, earning you a laugh from the man next to you. You grab your towel and dry yourself. "You gonna be drivin' or am I?"

Driving, a recently acquired skill of yours you got from work. Driving big lorry trucks was a lot of fun. Some days you and Titus would load up the trucks and head out for a drop off somewhere nice and far. The two of you, alone, with just the radio speaking between you. It was the life. But now you get to be stuck in a much smaller car. Good thing it's a pickup so you and Titus can just chill in the front seats while the boys party in the back.

"I can drive one and you drive the other."

No.

"Nah. Think Marty is drivin' the other car. Means I get the radio while you drive."

"Gonna be stuck listening to rock then, huh?"

"You love my music!"

"I love some of your music. No heavy metal."

An agreement. "Alright."

Titus closes the water and the two of you get dressed. Later tonight you plan on going out drinking with your teammates before the trip. For now, you and Titus return home to rest, and by rest, I mean taking a long walk along the lake.

"And you know what the funny thing is?" Titus says after he told you this tale of crossing paths with another hunter once with his old man who got a little aggressive, claiming Titus had stolen his shot.

"What?"

"I knocked him out easy. Never saw the butt of the gun comin'."

You chuckle. "What you get for messin' with T. Hardie."

"You know it," His laughter trails off into a sigh and he shoves his hands in his pockets. "I miss that old fuck." He looks up at the sky, maybe wondering if his father is looking down at him.

You question what his father would have thought had he known about... the two of you. The things you've done. If he would be as cruel as your own father.

"We should visit his grave when we come back from the hike. We haven't done that in a while."

You nod.

"Anythin' you wanna tell him?"

You think for a while then shrug. "I don't know." Talking to the dead? That's always been a weird thing for you. When you think about it, you're talking to a pile of bones buried underneath rubble and snow. Creepy. "What are you gonna tell him?"

"Everythin'." A little vague. "Gonna tell 'em all about today."

"What about today?"

He gives you a side glance with his signature wide smirk plastered on his face. Uh-oh. That look is trouble. And then he jumps you, locking your head between his biceps as he buries his knuckles in your hair, rubbing forcefully. "That I kicked your ass!" He yells in child-like joy. You laugh and try to get him to stop by reaching blindly for his hand to no avail. You then try to shake him off until both of you fall to the ground, breathless and your eyes full of pearly tears of happiness.

He rolls over and gets on top of you. This never ends well. He should know by now and yet, his weight graces your body, and it's tons and tons of nothing but love and affection. God damn those eyes of his and the way they narrow when he smiles. They do things to you that a man should never be allowed to do to another man. It makes you so angry that you could just kick him in the groin and then kiss his lips bloody.

Your eyes lock with his, and god, he must be doing this on purpose. Teasing you. Well, he's got to keep you interested in him somehow (not that he really needs to. He could just smile at you and you'd fall in love all over again. Hah! Gay! You're really in deep, huh? Sadly it's not deep in him.)

There's no laughter now, only you gazing at him, and him looking back... And then his land moves closer to your restless sea, waves dancing with the shore. His breath is hot against your lips. It's the perfect moment, the calm before the storm. You close your eyes and feel his lips press against yours softly, and very briefly. A tiny piece is all he'll give you. You open your eyes again to look at him, the smile faded from his face, instead, he's looking at you with great interest; heavy lids, slightly parted lips and a distant gaze that is somehow focused on you.

You wish you knew what he was thinking about. Perhaps he's contemplating going on for another kiss.

He remains frozen so you grab his elbows and carefully switch your positions so that he's now under you, and you shade him from all the light above. Your taller frame engulfs him... He doesn't move away.

As you bring your faces closer, you still hear the yells of the ancient souls telling you this is wrong, and the angry howls of the beast you know as your father echoes through your head, but it doesn't matter when your lips connect once more for a series of short but sweet and delightful kisses.

He hums in approval between your lips and wraps his arms around you. You take that as a sign to deepen the kiss, and just before you part, he holds your lower lip between his teeth.

Fuck, he's so incredibly hot that it's making your body burn with lust.

You've kissed so many times now that this should be a definite sign for the two of you and yet, after your little make-out sessions you always go back to pretending like there's nothing between you.

He releases you and lets his hands thread through your hair. "We could go back to your place... have some beers, and see where the night goes."

Warning! This is code for sex! 

Why go back to the shack? You can just shove his face in the dirt and fuck him right here.

"Gettin' horny, huh?"

There you go, thinking out loud again.

"As much as I'd love to get mud all over my ass, it's gonna be dark soon."

"Afraid people will hear you beggin' me to screw you harder?"

Titus laughs mockingly. "In your dreams. Which I'm sure you have." He winks and it makes you wanna punch him in the face. Instead, you just huff and get up, pulling him up with you. "Is that a hard on I see?" For a moment it looks like he's about to reach for your pants but stops and pulls back when you reach to grab his arms.

"Fuck you."

"Like I said, we'll see where the night goes." Another wink and then he's walking back in the direction of the shack, you follow behind.

Your companion knows his way around the shack he helped you build, when he's in, he goes straight to the kitchen and to the fridge to grab a can of beer.

"Gettin' cash but we're still eatin' frozen pizza."

You close the door behind you as you enter and chuckle. "It's damn good pizza."

"We should have Elliot sneak some food for us from his work."

"That's a good idea too."

He lets the pizza heat up while he walks towards you and opens up a single can of beer, taking a sip from it, and for whatever reason he keeps his eyes locked with yours as he does. When he lowers his head, he offers you the can.

Share a cold one with your best mate.

You take the can and drink from it before handing it back to him. He takes a step closer, and you notice how slightly shorter he is than you, just short enough for you to need to lower your eyes a bit to look at him directly. It wasn't always that way. When you were kids, he was much taller than you but then puberty happened. Though you are taller, he is wider than you. Titus has always been thick boned, always wider than the average child. As a kid, people thought it made him look a bit chubby. But you saw it as all strength!

He takes another swig and you're not sure what's going on in his mind right now. What kind of mind game he's playing, but watching the beer go down his throat, it's making you a little hot and bothered.

Your turn.

His turn.

Your turn.

His turn. And the can is empty when he moves it away from his mouth.

If this is a game then who won? Who lost? Does it even matter?

It doesn't. Because his lips are on yours again and you taste the beer all over the inside of his mouth.

You wrap your arms around the small of his back and pull him towards you till your bodies are pressed together. He seems very satisfied with this outcome. Too bad for you, you already feel the blood rushing down your body and into your dick but you don't want to be this eager this quickly and look desperate so you pull away.

"Be honest with me, Glen..."

Uh-oh. That can't be good.

"You ever think about fuckin' me again after that night?"

God, yes. Every time you see him naked in the locker room. You WISH you could stop thinking about it really. 

"You ever get hard thinkin' about me?"

He's making you hard right now. Shit, shit, shit. There's not a shred of humiliation or a thread of lack of confidence or fear in the way he talks. Maybe he's convinced he already knows the answer, despite that he seems genuinely curious to know. But you can't bring yourself to admit anything, for the sake of what remains of your dignity and manliness.

"Tell me and I'll tell you." He says.

Oh! Your eyes widen. This just got a whole lot more interesting. He's willing to spill the beans. The thought of Titus becoming undone and losing himself to his lust for you makes your throat dry and fills you with a very pleasing tingling sensation that jolts right down to your groin.

Fuck. This is embarrassing!

You can't bring yourself to look at him so you look anywhere else. "Yeah..." It's a soft, hushed, and pathetic whisper.

"Yeah?"

Holy shit, this shouldn't be turning you on as much as it is.

"Yeah." You say again a little louder.

"Yeah, what?" He wants you to say it.

Thinking about this is as hard as your cock is right now. "I thought about it."

Not quite there but he smiles regardless. It's more than sad to think that he could make you cum just by talking. You're that turned on by him, and maybe he knows it. He has to. It's difficult to hide it when your dick is poking against your pants.

"Good. Then we're on the same page." And that's that. He turns away and walks back to the kitchen to grab some more beer and take the pizza out of the microwave.

He's really just about to sit down to have pizza and beer and pretend like he didn't just blow you without having to put his lips around your dick? Fuck, man. That's cruel.

You drink another can and have a slice of pizza. You're not sure what to say after that awkward conversation.

Why did he even have to go that far? To prove something to you? To himself?

Now you can't stop thinking about it.

Maybe he wants you to make the first move? Right? Is that what he's hinting at?

Why is this all so fucking complicated?!

Another beer.

"What the fuck are we doin', T?"

He arches a brow and tilts his head to look at you. "Drinkin' beer and havin' pizza?"

The beer is giving you a boost of courage, enough to click your tongue and shake your head. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

He grins. "What do you mean?"

You take a sip of your third beer.

"Fuck you, T."

He shrugs. "Alright then."

Stop telling him you'll fuck him!

"Seriously though what?"

"Don't play dumb."

He chuckles and then gets up, he stands in front of you, looking down at you through his heavy lids, the eyes of god are upon you. Oh my Hardie, there goes your dick again.

He brings his leg up and presses his knee between yours, you distract yourself with another drink so you don't have to think about him pressing against your crotch. But he doesn't take his eyes off you and it's not helping at all.

"Just say you wanna suck my dick."

"Is that what you want?" He laughs and it's his turn to let the river of beer wash his throat. He moves his knee in a circular motion, rubbing you through your pants and you grip the couch with one hand tightly, nails digging into it as you feel him add more pressure.

"Knock it off."

"Alright." He pulls away and you instantly regret it. He takes one more sip and before he goes to sit back down but you hold your hand out and grab his wrist.

"Wait."

He looks at you from over his shoulder, a triumphant smile already gracing his lips.

Your head is equally fogged up by desire and lust. You don't want this to cloud your already fucked up judgment. Your hands are now around his hips and you pull him close while the same question repeats on your tongue. "What the fuck are we doing?"

"Looks like to me we're about to make out, maybe have a good night, party like we do. Make out some more." He shrugs. "Who knows."

Suddenly a funny thought crosses your mind and you can't help but burst into laughter at it, completely ruining the mood.

"What?"

"Just remembered that you said earlier. About tellin' your old man about today? This really what you wanna tell him?"

Titus is now laughing with you. "Sure. Hey old man, had practice today. Went great. After that I went back to Glen's and had a hot steamy make out session, then we fucked. It was fuckin-fantastic. Can you imagine, pops? Me and Glenny? Yeah, guess it was kind of obvious."

"What?" You blurt out.

"What?" He echoes.

"What's obvious?"

"Us? You know my old man wouldn't even be surprised or anythin' I bet."

Just play along, Glen.

"He's not gonna rise from the grave and haunt me?"

"Nah. You've always been a Hardie, Glenny. I guess maybe he always knew." He taps on his chin.

Always knew?

"Anyway, where were we?"

You're still processing everything he said. It's a lot to take in. When he kisses you again, there's little room for thought. No thinking, only kissing.

He drinks some more beer in between kisses and now you're chasing his lips, blocked by the beer can.

"Easy there, tiger." He presses the can against your mouth. You move away and push his hand to the side clear a path back to heaven.

He laughs against your lips before surrendering to you.

Your hands cup his ass and you pull him up and off the ground, wrapping his legs around you as you try to blindly navigate to the bedroom.

The bed creaks under your combined weight and the two of you snicker.

"You know, you can just say you love me."

The world around you halts, all sound coming from you is suddenly gone. Love? Love is such a strong word but it's how you feel about him. You love him even though you struggle to come to terms with that. It's hard for you to understand something that's never been given to you growing up, something you've only experienced once and with one person. You love things, of course. You love guns and you love rugby. You love beating people up and blowing shit to pieces... but this is not the same. This is--- complicated. Does he even feel the same way?

"Do you?" You question.

"Love you?" He snorts. "Sometimes I think you can't get any dumber, Glenny. But you always find a way."

"That's not a yes." You sound too serious, it makes him stop laughing.

"Of course I do."

"Then say it."

He blinks and tilts his head. "What's wrong with you?"

"Say it." A silent please follows the sentence. You need to hear him say it... You need to, for reassurance... to make sure.

This is hard for him too. Maybe that's why he wanted you to take the first step, why he was leading you to this point. It's obvious now that the two of you prefer actions over words. It's easy to kiss someone and even easier to get drunk and have sex... But words? Words never fade. Empty promises hurt, words hurt, more than a kick or a punch. If he said it, he can't take it back. You need to hear it.

"um..." He looks around for a while. He must think this is so stupid because that's what you're thinking as well. but then his expression becomes serious. He's done thinking. The decision has been made. "I love you, Glen Dixon." Then he's smiling again, he smiles as though it was easy. It fills you with all sorts of conflicted emotions.

You think your heart stopped after hearing those words. You can't feel anything and yet you feel everything. This isn't the same playful "I love you as a friend." Not the same "I love you" he tells you after winning a match or after a good day. He really means it. His expression is serious and yet so full of love like he's determined to make you understand.

Now it's your turn to say it back.

"I..."

He's patient but you see the eagerness painted on his face. 

You can't even look at him. 

"I---uh," doubt. This sounds like doubt. But the truth is you're afraid. What happens after those words leave your mouth... you're not ready for it. But you want this. You do, don't you?

You can't think... sitting up, you clutch your head to try and organize your thoughts and keep your brain from combusting.

You envy him. How could this be so simple for him? You wish it were for you but you can't forget... the years of pain you've endured. The thought of your father haunts you. If he knew... 

You could feel the weight of his merciless hands, breaking your bones again and again. It's too much.

"Glen?"

You remember your teammates calling you girlie, tugging on your hair, laughing at you. You don't notice Titus sitting up and putting his hands on your shoulders.

"Glen!" He shakes you out of your thoughts and you feel as though you just took a dive from cloud nine to earth in supersonic speed.

"I'm sorry..."

"You went a little coo-coo for a moment." He makes circular motions with his finger near the side of his head. "Haven't seen that happen in a while. What happened?"

You shake your head. "Nothin'..." a sigh. "I don't know."

His eyes are filled with sadness as he looks at you. Great, you totally killed the mood. Nice going. You feel the beast in you rise with anger and frustration. You fucked up, you always do!

He scoots to the side and lies down, pulling you down with him and wrapping his arms around you. You suddenly feel exhausted, it's as though you've been kicked like a rugby ball. Sex becomes a fading thought in your head. You just want to be feel alright again. You place your hand over Titus's own and bring it to your chest, keeping your fingers tangled as you gently rub your thumb against his knuckles.

"I'm sorry..."

"It's okay." He's not angry or even disappointed. He understands how difficult it is for you, and how you're prone to switching from sane to bat-shit-crazy over the littlest things sometimes. He doesn't understand why, but he just knows it's a thing that happens with you and he's accepted your unpredictable nature.

"I totally ruined the night, didn't I?"

You feel his breath against your hair as he laughs. "Nah. I don't mind this."

"You don't mind?"

"Yeah."

It's not about the sex, Glen. When are you going to get that through your thick skull? Love and sex are not the same thing. Sometimes it's just being with the person you love.

Being with the one you love, huh? Sounds stupid to you. "My mind has dumb thoughts sometimes." You say suddenly.

He tries to not burst into a laughing fit at that because you sound so serious. "Does it?"

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

You shrug. "I don't know. Lots'a things."

Titus rolls his eyes. "Like what?" He says again.

"Like... like sometimes it's okay to just wanna hold hands with someone you love... or whatever..." You click your tongue. "Listen, it's cheesy and really fuckin' dumb."

Now Titus can't keep himself from laughing. You feel like an idiot.

"So you do love me?"

"That's not what I said!"

"You said holding hands with someone you love. We're holding hands."

You have the chance to just admit it right now and put things to rest. Just say 'haha okay you're right, whatever.'

"Fine, okay. Whatever."

You feel Titus move closer to you and he nuzzles the side of your neck, his face is full of your hair but he doesn't seem bothered by that. It's a silent 'I love you too.'

Nothing else needs to be said... But you lie awake wondering...

Where does this leave you tomorrow? Are you just going to walk up to everyone on your team while holding hands and hoping you still get to keep your positions?

What about work? Will you still get to keep your jobs?

And Martinaise? It's not safe...

You close your hand around Titus's own a little tighter and try to silence the thoughts in your head. But they don't stop until the morning comes. Sleep is a privilege that you no longer deserve. 

This is one of the toughest phases you'll have to go through. The fear... The constant overthinking... The paranoia. Your mind will be your worst enemy.

Survive.

Soft lips press against your shoulder. It was supposed to put you at ease but it doesn't. You shift, turning around to look at your friend.

How can he be so calm? How does he sleep at night? How is he just... okay with all of this? You wish you could ask him. You want to know his secrets.

He leans towards you and plants a kiss at the corner of your mouth, moving slowly towards the center until you're dancing along with him. It's short lived but takes away some of your burden.

Reaching out, you place a hand on the side of his face and stroke it with your thumb, his smile widens. The hairs on his face are growing long. A shave is required.

"We should get up..."

"Yeah..."

You don't want to be late and have to hear about it from the lads. You grab your gear and head out, stopping at Titus's place to get his bag.

"Have fun, boys." His mom yells out after him, you like your head in from the door to wave goodbye to her and look at her pale, tired, thin, and sickly frame. You have to keep yourself from wincing when you look at her. She's old now, grey hair and all... maybe Titus was right.

Aging, being old and helpless... What a terrifying thing. You can't imagine yourself with a head of white hair.

"Come on, Glen."

You skip the stairs by hopping down to the ground and catching up with Titus who was already walking down the road with his bag flung over his shoulder.

When you get to the meeting point, you see some of your teammates already putting their bags into the pickups.

"Rise and shine, love birds. Where have you been? Banged all night and couldn't wake up early?"

"Shut the fuck up!" You bark out of fear. It's the paranoia, it's making you jumpy, defensive. Its only just begun.

Meanwhile, Titus just snorts and throws his bag in with the rest. "Yeah, fucked your mom real good."

The rest of the team laughs. You toss your bag in with the others. Calm down. Don't slip up this early. 

"Upset your boyfriend there."

"I'll kick your teeth in until they clog up your throat, how about that?" So eager to be violent in an instant. 

"Oooh, someone is feisty."

One thing leads to the other and the banter quickly moves on to something else until the rest of the team arrives and you divide yourselves among the two cars. Titus getting into the driver seat and you next to him in the passenger seat. When everyone is ready, you set off, the folks in the back already singing and shouting and joking loudly.

You turn the radio on and let rock drown out the noise in the trunk. 

"You owe me, by the way." Titus hums along with the music and taps his finger on the steering wheel.

"What?"

"For last night. I expect us to pick up where we left off."

You scratch your cheek, unsure if he meant the talk or sex.

"What do you mean?"

He keeps his eyes on the road and laughs. This doesn't help.

You feel the nervousness kick in. There's a threat just behind you. You turn up the music a bit, it gives you the comforting illusion that it masks your conversation from the people in the back.

Great, now your thoughts are starting to swarm in again. Fuck! You can't do this right now. The stakes are too high. Titus is too confident, but you're not.

"Can we just... not do this now?"

"Do what?"

"This... whatever it is that we're doin'..."

"Huh..." His fingers lose rhythm for a moment. "Suddenly you got stage fright?"

"It's not..." You click your tongue. "It's not that. We can't just--- if they knew---"

"Yeah, alright." Is all he says. An instant conversation ender. You're not sure if he's angry. His expression is indifferent.

You didn't expect the ride to be like this... You can save it from being awkward all the way there, just change the subject.

"You were right about your mom, by the way. She doesn't look too good."

"Yeah. I asked Tibbs to try and get her to go to the hospital today."

"I hope she's alright."

"She's old, man." He means that even if she's alright now, eventually she won't be. Humans, such fragile things. When you grow old you become like dust. The wind can kill you.  
"I'm sorry..."

He shrugs. "Shit like that is meant to happen." Everyone grows old and eventually withers and dies. Life is fleeting. Before you know it you'll be lying on your deathbed asking what have you done in life or what will you leave behind... who will remember you?

"I don't wanna grow old."

"Me neither."

But you don't want to die young. Maybe you just want to die for the right thing... You glance at the man sitting beside you and you lean towards him, tugging his cap into place. He smiles playfully.

"Fuck off. You don't want us to crash, do you?"

You sit back and roll the window down so you can have a smoke while the song on the radio ends. The next one begins and Titus goes back to his rhythmic tapping on the steering wheel, you nod your head along, and the two of you start singing.

The trip is saved and you find it easy now to slip into more comfortable conversations about music and hiking plans and your next big game. The usual. You converse, and every now and then you'd be interrupted by the banging from the animals in the back. It's not even night time yet and they're already partying like the back of the car is a strip-club

The mountains come into view after hours of driving. You park your cars and the boys hop out of the back and begin tossing everyone's bags to them. The first night you spend setting up camp and scouting the area. At night, you gather around the fire and exchange stories while you roast marshmallows.

"Okay," one of your team members say. "Craziest hook-up stories, go!"

Ah, shit...

You sit there and listen to each one of them go on about their most bat-shit insane one night stands. All your one night stands are crazy because you end up unsatisfied and angry. You can tell literally any story but all of them will hint at the fact that you're queer so... what do you do?

"What about you, Blondie? Tell us a good one."

The rest of the team cheers and it only adds to the pressure.

"Well? Come on."

"Oh, he don't got one 'cause he never got laid."

"Or maybe he's gay!"

Too much pressure. You don't like this.

"Didn't you once tell me about this crazy chick that ended up breaking down half your place, Glenny?"

Titus is a lifesaver. You exhale and chuckle. "Yeah."

"Tell 'em."

Okay, now you got an idea. So you half make up a story about the chick you picked up some years ago with the huge titts, but instead of you breaking things on your own you just tell them what you told Titus. She's a wild lady, you end up banging everywhere, throwing things, breaking things, going completely balls to the walls. "Still got her bra at my place."

"OOOOOOH!!" The crowd goes.

You sigh in relief when they all seem to take the bait, and after a few more cheers they move on to the next person, and so on, and so on. Some stories lead to others, and now you're uncomfortable again as the team's hooker tells everyone about the time he dunked some homos head in the toilet after tricking him into thinking they're going into the bathroom for a quickie.

"Fucking f*gs, man."

"Hey!" Titus yells, throwing his empty can at the number 2. "We don't use that kind of language on my team."

"What?" He rubs the side of his face where the can struck. "They are f*gs though!"

"Say it one more time and your face is going in the fire," It's silent for a while. Titus cracks open another can of beer. It's amazing how one man can instill fear in the hearts of many just with the sound of his voice. "Why are you quiet all of a sudden? Huh? Come on. The night is young. Drink up."

And things slowly come back to life. Titus Hardie, he's a good man but he's intimidating as fuck when he's angry. Everyone knows better than to piss off someone who was not just a prizefighter, but also a damn good hunter. Not to mention, they know he has you and it's no secret to anyone on the team that you're unhinged. They've all experienced it firsthand.

Regardless, the night goes on and on until you're all dancing around the fire and chanting like a bunch of cultists. Too much beer, too many idiots all in one place.

"Alright, everyone. Lights out. I'm wakin' you all up before sunrise. We're gonna go for a jog up this trail," Titus moves his finger along a map. "We can stop there, do our mornin' drills, take a break, then keep goin' up. If we're fast enough we can get to the top and back to the campsite before it's dark. That's our challenge. If one of you falls behind, we all fall behind. Got that? So bring your A-game tomorrow and be well rested."

Everyone heads into their tents and you put out the fire with a bucket of water as Titus finishes up a smoke. He gives you the last drag and you take it.

"You know," he begins as he exhales. "The kids are all asleep." He chuckles.

Oh!

"Wanna take a walk?"

Get away from the campsite, just you and him. WINK WINK NUDGE NUDGE!

"Yeah, sure."

This is risky but isn't that what makes it so hot?

He takes a flashlight and the two of you make your way to a path, following it away from the camp. For a while, there's nothing but trees but then a river comes into view. You walk along it and explore the area. Titus forages a few berries from the bushes and washes them in the river. "You sure we can eat these?"

"Yeah. They're not poisonous, don't worry," He puts one between his teeth and leans towards you. "Have one."

You look around nervously. "Titus, come on."

He remains where he is.

You sigh in defeat and meet his lips, grabbing the berry from in between his teeth with your tongue. The berry tastes sweet and sour, it's juicy when you bite down on it, and the aftertaste is swept away by Titus when he kisses you. You place your hands on the side of his face and pull him closer. Shit, you shouldn't be doing this but it excites you. You push him back until he's pressed against you and one of the trees. Your kisses deepen with every chain broken until your lungs beg for air.

"Good?"

You nod.

"Want another one?"

If it means another make out session then fuck yeah!

He arches his back, his knees brush against yours, when he reaches to give you another berry you grab his wrists. He's teasing you again, teasing you with his eyes and his smile. You almost want to beg, and you're not even sure what you're begging for. For him to keep going? To stop? You don't know!

"I don't understand."

"Don't understand what?"

"Why you're doin' this to me."

He tilts his head and his innocent smile turns into a smirk. "What am I doin' to you?"

There he goes again. He knows just how to make your dick stir.

"Stop, T." There it is.

"Stop?"

Stop what? Stop torturing you? Stop hinting at the fact that he wants you? Stop showing interest? You don't know. You don't know what you want. You wish you could run to the river and hide your face in the water just to cool off.

"Well?"

You grip his wrists tighter and feel the bones underneath the flesh threaten to crack but he doesn't react. What you would give to fuck him right here against this tree. Just imagining it makes it hard for you to swallow. (it's making other things hard too. Woohoo, my second getting hard joke in one chapter!)

Maybe you should try using his own tactic against him. Play dirty. It's a game for two.

"Just admit that you're dyin' for me to fuck you."

He chuckles. "What makes you think that?"

"But that's why you're doin' this, ain't it? Just say you want my dick."

He shrugs. "I was just offerin' you some berries."

You don't like this anymore so you kick him in the shin hard enough to make him fall to his knee. You move your hand from his wrists to his shoulders and keep him down. He grips your legs but you knee him in the jaw, causing the back of his head to hit the tree.

"Stop playin' games with me."

"Why? They seem to be rallyin' you up." He rubs his jaw and then lowers his gaze to your crotch. "They seem to be turnin' you on too."

"Shut up."

"Or what? You gonna make me choke on your dick?" That's a nice image. You can't help but lick your lips at the thought. "You would like that wouldn't you?" He snickers. Somehow, even when you got him pinned between a tree and your dick, he still has the upper hand. He brings his hand up to your leg again and slowly crawls up your thigh. You let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding as you watch him get closer and closer to the jackpot, and then, you're doubling down as he punches you right in the balls.

"Ah! Fuck, man!" You curl up on the ground and he gets up, laughing.

"Tell you what, we get back to camp before nightfall tomorrow and then you get to have this dick." He points to his crotch.

"Fuck," you curse again. "You didn't have to do that!"

"Never let your guard down."

"Fuck you!"

"If things go accordin' to plan tomorrow? You might just get to do that," He offers you his hand and you glare at him. Despite the hard learned lesson, you take his hand and he pulls you up. "Come on, we should get some rest now."

Leaving you hanging... Again. But hey, at least you got something to look forward to tomorrow

You walk back to camp. Titus waves goodnight before he disappears inside his own little cozy tent, and you in yours. You're still in pain from the punch, but at least it keeps your thoughts occupied and you find it easier than usual to sleep.  
\---  
True to his word, Titus wakes you up before sunrise and that's by banging pots together and yelling for everyone to get in line like it's fucking drill training and he's the Sargent. "Come on, ladies. We don't got all day."

"Jesus fuck, Hardie. You're louder than my ma."

"Yeah trust me, I know. Now get up."

You cook breakfast quickly and start your hike, passing by the river from last night on your way up the mountain road. Your teammates pass the time with small talk and almost getting in trouble by playfully pushing and shoving one another. It's funny now but it won't be when you're high enough for you to die if you fall, or worse, end your rugby careers.

You sing the anthem of the Flaming Rhinos and continue to march on. The view of the area becoming clearer the higher you go.

"We should take a photo for coach when we get to the top."

"Yeah, show that old man what he's missing."

The team takes a break to take in the view. "See that, boys?" Titus says and points at nothing in particular in the distance. "Martinaise. That's the home we play for. We wanna make her proud."

Everyone shouts a "Fuck Yeah!"

Titus sure knows how to raise morale. He gives you a pat on the back while watching the distant river flow and the trees dancing with the wind. It's peaceful. You forget sometimes how beautiful Martinaise can be when there are no drug wars and dying children on the street. 

"Alright, let's keep goin'. We still got a long way to the top."

You go back to your chanting and singing with Titus leading the line. The good thing about this is you have a damn good view of his ass. If you're lucky, it'll be yours tonight. You try not to stare for too long, you don't want Titus to get suspicious, nor the rest of the band behind you. But you allow yourself a treat every now and then, and man, does Titus have a great ass. Those shorts aren't doing him justice.

Behind you, your teammates are busy being heterosexual and talking about how they feel like they need to go hardcore bang some chicks after this. They talk about some party, and their experience hitting drugs. They talk about their childhoods growing up, some of them spoiled, some come from nothing, and others, much like yourself, had terrible parents. You opt out of contributing to the topic.

They then exchange their favorite childhood memories. "Huntin' with my dad," Titus says. "The fucker sure knew how to aim even though he only had one good eye. He could shoot an animal through a god damn tree and still land the hit. Fuckin' psychopath. Good man, though." There's no longer sadness in his voice when he talks about his old man. He remembers him fondly.

You don't have a lot of good childhood memories, so again you remain silent.

"Feels like Glenny here could use some beers. He's been quiet."

The person behind you gives you a gentle push. "Share with the team, Blondie."

"Got nothin' to say."

"Yeah, right. Spill the deets, dude."

Why do they feel the need to drag you into conversations? Now you know the struggles of introverts.

You sigh and try to think of something from your childhood that you actually liked... aside from meeting Titus.

"I don't know," you shrug. "Playin' rugby for the first time."

"Yeah. Glen and I used to play a lot even as kids. He's still as fierce as ever. When I was a kid, I was still built like a boulder, right? And he was a scrawny little fuck but shit, he hit me with the ball once and I think I can still feel it."

"Aww look at you two." There are fake gagging noises in the crowd behind you.

"What? You guys don't got friends you do shit with? You sad lonely fucks. Y'all wish you had someone like Glen."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, boss."

The conversation dissolves into laughter. Assholes.

You reach the end of the hiking trail mid-day and you decide to take another well deserved break. Your mate sets up a camera and you take one group photo of all of you on top of the world then you have a lunch break.

If there was no prize waiting for you at the finish line, you wouldn't mind sitting up here until night time and stargaze. The march down is easier than up. You reach the river and everyone takes off their clothes, jumping into the water with nothing but boxers on. Every gay man's dream.

Just a bunch of dude bros, just some guy dudes, some bro fellas all swimming together.

It's safe to say some became completely naked for laughs, whether it was because someone thought it would be funny to pull their boxers down as a joke, or they took them off themselves. Dicks galore.

Again, how do these guys have the audacity to pretend like being gay is a disease or something when they're all here pulling each other's boxers down and pretending to scare each other by trying to grab their dicks? Fucking heterosexuals, man. Can you believe them? They're all blissfully ignorant to their own homoerotic nature. Can't be us though, right?

Anyway, Titus swims around you and you around him. You watch your teammates play and try to drown each other. It's almost relaxing despite all the yelling and screaming they're doing.

You have a race, you play like kids without a care in the world. It's days like these that remind just how beautiful life can be. 

"Look at you, Dixon. You look like a gay-ass mermaid emerging from the water with your pretty boy hair."

"I'm a god damn shark, fuckwad. Don't tempt me." Your teeth are are sharp and ready to feast on some human flesh. The threat is sincere enough to make your teammate eat his words. You smirk in victory. There isn't a single person on your team that you haven't punched in the face once or twice before. Granted, there's no bad blood between any of you. Just boys being boys. But they would rather not eat a knuckle-sandwich if they can help it.

The perks of being seen as a nut-job is no one fucks with you.

It's not long before the sun descends from the sky so it's time to return to shore, and as you make your way back, you notice two men standing by your bags. "Hey!" One of your mates yells and you all swim back.

Luckily your number 8 is already near shore and manages to catch one of them as the other grabs a bag and runs off. The world flows in slow motion the moment you see the man pull out a blade and shove it deep into your teammate's abdomen before he also took one of the bags and made a run for it.

Panic fills all of you as you rush back to shore and gather around your fallen brother, blood pooling under him and dripping down the corner of his mouth. He's trying hard to breathe so Titus yells at everyone to back off. "Give him some air!" His chest rises and falls rapidly, fear is clear in his eyes. "Someone go back to camp! Find the nearest payphone and call for help! Glen, get me whatever alcohol we got, water, and a clean towel or shirt or whatever the fuck you can find."

You hear footsteps rushing away as you search the bags for a clean shirt and toss it to Titus who quickly uses it to apply pressure to the wound that's spurting blood.

"Is Jesse gonna die?"

"Shut the fuck up, Dale," Titus is trying to keep it together so Jesse doesn't panic. "It's alright, Jess. They probably already called help. You'll be fine."

Hospitals are far. He won't make it... Titus knows that.

"I don't wanna die."

You thought you've seen it all. That you got used to this... But hearing those words... They still send a shiver down your spine.

"Hey. I said you'll be fine, alright? Just shut up. Focus on breathing."

"Tell ma and pa that I love them, okay?"

Men... so strong and macho. How the fear of death can strip them of even their facade. Just an hour ago, Jess was flexing his muscles and talking about hookers... hard to believe how much can change in a few precious moments.

"Please. Tell my brother I'm sorry."

"I told you to shut up."

"I'll never call him a f*ggot again."

Oh, how the mighty fall...

"Jesse shut the fuck up. Just breathe." Titus extends one hand towards you. The shirt he's using is fully soaked. He needs another. You grab one quickly and hand it to him.

It feels like you've been sitting there for centuries before those who went to call for help returned.

"They're on the way, Jesse. Hang on."

But they won't get here in time. As the man lies bleeding to death, you see the colors drain from his skin and into the ground beneath. He's silent, his rapid breathing has slowed down. It's a hard sight to witness. You hear Titus sniff and watch as he rubs his nose with the back of his hand.

"Thanks for everything, Titus Hardie. Tell the coach that I said thanks to him too." His voice is weaker. There's nothing anyone can say in return.

Titus nods. "You've been one hell of a number 8, man."

"I hope people remember me."

"They will."

Its become apparent now that the young man has accepted his death. He returns to being silent as he gazes up at the sky. As the sun sets, he draws his last breath.

"Jess?" One of the men calls out... nothing but the wind responds.

Titus sits back, hands covered in blood.

Everyone is trapped in the moment, the world is still. Everything becomes background noise, and then... Titus punches the ground. "Fuck!" His yell is carried by the wind and echoes in the large open area, frightening the birds in the trees. "Did anyone see the fuckers who did this?"

Everyone looks at each other, hoping someone has an answer.

"It was hard to tell they wore hoods. They looked young, probably younger than all of us. Not much else I can say."

"They're probably still around. Get the cars."

"Titus..."

"I said get the damn cars! Now!"

And two of your teammates rush to do exactly that.

You kneel down beside Titus and out a hand on his shoulder. "We're gonna get those assholes, T."

He looks determined to.

When the cars pull up, Titus picks up Jesse's lifeless body. "Drive back to Martinaise. Bury him wherever his parents want him to be buried."

The men nod, five of them in total leave, leaving you and 8 others with Titus.

"We'll cover more ground if we split up. Three in the car, the rest on foot. Meet back at the campsite if you find nothing. If you find 'em then bring 'em back. I wanna deal with 'em."

You go with Titus, the rest split into groups of two.

Titus is terrifying when he's thirsty for blood. You're used to being the aggressive one so you're not sure what to say or do to comfort him. It's best you focus on finding the culprits, and when you do, Titus Hardie will execute his own form of justice.

You listen to the world around you, every breath it takes, the wind in the trees, the branches beneath your feet. Your eyes are sharp but they spot nothing out of the ordinary. 

The sky darkens above you. You must have been looking for some time. Not even a trail or any sort of clue makes itself present to you. "Fuck..."

The culprits would be long gone by now. You can only hope your teammates had better luck. 

"Come on, let's head back. Maybe the others found somethin'." You give Titus a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, he puts his hand over yours for a moment and then you make your way back to camp.

"Sorry, Titus..."

"Shit!"

The team captain was visibly frustrated. No one dared to step close to him.

He paces around for a while. Everyone awaits his command but nothing comes so someone finally speaks up, "We should head back. It's getting late."

"Yeah..." Titus nods. "You're right..." there was no use staying here anymore anyway. 

You pack the rest of your camp and let the others drive this time you take the backseat with Titus and the rest.

The drive back is silent and uncomfortable. You busy yourself by looking at the world passing by. The street lamps whooshing by, the people walking down the street, the sky above you, and the moon chasing you. When you glance at Titus, he has a distant look in his eyes. His chin resting on his hand, his arm supported by the side of the open trunk. You can tell he's deep in thought perhaps daydreaming of murdering the assholes who did this or perhaps just regretting. Hopefully, he can sort it out because you don't know how to help. 

You're dropped off at the same spot where you met in the morning and take the road back to the lake. 

"You wanna stay the night? Or do you have to go home?"

He shrugs. 

You open the door and look over your shoulder, he hasn't turned back to leave. The last time you've seen him this way was when his father died. You haven't learned much since then when it came to catering to his emotions. 

He lost a friend... and you have a feeling that he blames himself. 

"T..."

"Ugh... Yeah. Goodnight, Glen." He takes a step back and you grab a hold of his arm. 

You move inside the shack, he follows without a sound. You release him from your grip to go into the kitchen and he slumps down on the couch. You grab two cans of beer and make a mental note to buy more tomorrow then hand Titus his drink. 

"What happened was fucked." You tell him, you can at least attempt to help him work through this. He makes himself busy drinking. You sit beside him on the arm of the couch and put one arm around him. "It ain't your fault. It ain't no one's fault."

In moments like these, you wonder... what if. What if he had just been faster? What if it had been him and not Jess? Wouldn't it make any difference?

In another world... perhaps. But it's the past now and the past cannot be changed, no matter how much he thinks of what ifs. 

"T?"

"He was so scared. And I told him he'd be alright."

What else could he have done? Told the man he was going to die? That it was hopeless to hang on to life? 

"You did what you could."

Titus sighs. "Yeah..."

The two of you drink in silence for a while. It drags on for more than you're comfortable with but you endure. Titus is looking at his beer can like it holds the answers to the universe. He just needs it to tell him what to do. If there's anything he can do even. 

Finally, he moves to take off his hat, then his words break the long silence. "I just wish..." he shakes his head. There's no use wishing. Martinaise has gone far too long just hoping and wishing for things to get better but they'll never be if no one does anything about it. "We're gonna figure this out!" He sounds far too determined for unknown reasons. It's a simple sudden outburst that leaves you confused.

You blink, unsure of what he means by that. "Um? Yeah? Sure."

He nods to himself and you think holy shit... Titus Hardie has really gone and lost it. This is worse than you expected. 

He gulps down his beer then crushes the can in his hand before making a shot for the trash can. It's a hit. The fly-half then hops to his feet and you quickly finish up your can so you're free to do whatever he wants to next, which was offer you his hand. 

"I know I made you a promise today but we're gonna have to get a raincheck."

"Yeah, no worries." 

Your friend just died. Even you realize how disrespectful it would be to not take a while to mourn that. There's a lot that needs to be done. You're sure that even your rugby club won't be active for a while.

"We'll see what we can do about it tomorrow. For now---" Titus leads you to your room and you watch intensely as he takes off his clothes. He's quick, it's not his usual teasing way of undressing. It's a 'just want this day to be over.' Kind of quick.

You strip down to your underwear as well and lie down on the bed and make room for him. He presses his back against your chest and you wrap your arm around him. 

His heart beats. You feel grateful to have made it through another day. 

You stare at his frame for a while, watching the rhythm of his breathing and his scarred body, then you lean down and press your lips to the side of his neck and he smiles. 

Everything is going to be okay... eventually.

* * *

The next day you visit Jess's family as they mourn, you give them some comfort by passing on Jess's final requests. 

"He was a good man." Titus says. 

"Thank you." 

He then looks at the youngest man in the room, Jess's brother. "And he says he's sorry he said those things to you. He never meant 'em. No matter what, you're always his little brother."

The boy nods, too afraid to speak in case his voice fails him. 

The rhinos take some time off for a while to mourn their loss. But eventually, they'll have to look for a new number 8. 

Eventually... life has to move on. 

You drink in his honor and pour one for him on his grave. After that, there's a speech from the coach, followed by one from each member of the team, recalling Jess's achievements and some other fond memories. 

You'll miss the bastard. 

"Think we can make a stop at my dad's?"

"Yeah, of course."

True to his word earlier, Titus spends some time briefing the grave of his father about recent events;  
About sports, about the trip, about the loss. He talks to him about the rowing club, the old boat, and all the trophies he's gathered. Then he kneels beside the stone and gives it a pat. "Hope you're proud old man. And hey, think mom is comin' to see you soon. She's gettin' old. Forgettin' things. Coughin' all night, tired all day. But she's tough like every Hardie." He nods to himself then stands up. "I'll see ya later."

You try to mask the soft smile on your face. Perhaps you envy Titus for having a father that loved him. You wish you knew how that felt like. 

After Titus is done, you head back to his place to find it empty. "Maybe Tibbs finally convinced ma to see a doctor." 

With nothing to do for the rest of the day, you decide to go to the park to shoot some hoops. Basketball isn't really a game you play often but you and Titus are good enough at it.. that being because you're tall and broad. You can easily block any player. But when it's a 1 on 1 with you and Titus? Two equally masculine dudes? It's game on. 

You're taller than Titus so you have that to your advantage. But he's more agile and can dance around you with ease. Not to mention, when it comes to sports, you're an open book to him.

He shoots, he scores. 

In the end, you just take turns shooting the ball into the hoop and seeing who scores more as you chitchat. It's amazing that the two of you spend most of your time together and yet somehow, after all these years, you've still not run out of shit to say.

There are still things you don't know about Titus, believe it or not. And there are things about you that you would rather keep to yourself. 

All these years later, you still don't know what goes on in his mind and how it works. But you feel as though you stand naked before him, with your secrets on your wrists and your heart beating out of your ribcage. Your mask is translucent.

You wonder what he sees in you. How can someone like you ever even compare to him? He's a golden god. You're made of fragments of useless things. And yet when he smiles at you, the way he is right now, you feel whole. 

"What's wrong? You've missed the last three dunks."

You shrug. "Just a little rusty."

"Tch. Yeah, sure. If I win, you're buyin' dinner."

"Hey, no fair. You can't make a bet now."

"Catch up."

You grab some Seolite takeaway and some extra cans of beer to refill your fridge and head back to your place. 

"You remember when Tibbs was a kid and he would try to snort the noodles up his nose?"

You chuckle. "Yeah."

"He sure has grown. Don't got a sense of humor no more."

"Sucks to be him."

"Yeah. Been tryin'a get him to go out more. Meet some folks, party a bit. He's pretty straight edge. That kid might just outlive the both of us."

He probably will. Unlike you and Titus, Tiberius knows when to keep his nose out of trouble. 

"Do you still have your deck of cards? I'm feelin' like beatin' your ass in a card game."

You snort. "We'll see about that."

You search the drawers for your cards. "What are we playin' for?" Titus yells from over at the table where he just got done finishing up his noodles.

"Ugh, I don't know. Money? Who buys booze for the entirety of next month? Who tops during sex?"

You did not mean to blurt out that last one. 

"Addin' to our last bet I see."

You chuckle nervously. "I was just messin' around." Then you go back to trying to find your deck. 

"No, no. I'm interested. You better find those cards."

Third drawer is the charm. You find them kept together with a rubber band. Undoing the rubber band, you mix the cards on your way back to the table.

"I'll deal."

You hand the cards to Titus who mixes them some more. "Best out of three?"

"We're gonna be here for a long time."

You start the game and it's not long before the beer cans pile up and the ashtrays become full. Your house smells like a mixture of fruity beer and nicotine. You crank the window open and watch as Titus slowly blows ring after ring of smoke up into the air. 

You lose the first round, but end up winning the second and third. 

"You got lucky. Or maybe I let you win." He winks at you. 

"Why? You like bein' the bottom bitch?" A wide smirk spreads across your face. You never took Titus to be a bottom. 

"No. But I know I can make you fuckin' beg either way."

"You wish!"

"I don't have to. I know you, Glenny," there's a sudden change in the tone of his voice. It's deeper, heavy with anticipation and just a hint of lust. "I know just what buttons to press... and what to say to make you fuckin' lose it."

"You'll be findin' it hard to talk with my dick down your throat."

"So I was right. You would like that! See? I know you." He laughs, and you don't understand how he can sound so innocent when he's jerking you off without even needing to touch you. It's hard to keep your face from flaming up and becoming red. You're definitely not shy but God damn! Titus Hardie can do things to you that no other man can.

Top or bottom, he knows how to break you and make you weep for him. Even if he lets you top, don't expect him to be submissive to you. He'll play you like a fucking jackass on the rugby field. Those are called power bottoms. They make you think you're on top but you're not. You learned something today. 

No, Titus is not often a bottom, not at all. In fact, that time on your birthday is one of the very few times that he's allowed himself to bottom. But he makes an exception for you. Maybe you're just a good top. Maybe he just likes breaking you from under. Titus Hardie has his own sadistic side, though it's not as physical as yours, it can still leave quite the sting. 

"It's gettin' pretty late. We'll see when you can redeem your prize but it ain't tonight."

Keeping you on your toes. You doubt it'll be any time this week even, between work and your other duties, you'll always come home too exhausted for anything. Not to mention, everyone is still mourning. Maybe next week?

Ah, the torture of waiting. You'll dream of his ass every day and he'll tease the living hell out of you. But maybe the pay off will be worth it. Maybe?? You KNOW it'll be worth it. 

You pack your cards and he helps you clean up before you retreat into your room. Before you reach the bed, you're pushed on to it. When Titus tries to climb on top of you, you quickly switch your positions and the two of you bicker and squabble playfully, little giggles and chuckles escaping your lips every now and then as you fight for the upper hand. 

The bed is not nearly as wide enough to hold the both of you while you playfight so when one falls he pulls the other with him and you end up tangled on the floor, laughing, breathless. Your hair spreads beneath you like a sea of gold, Titus is on top of you and tries to hold your hands together. You push and shove and he manages to grab your wrists and win the fight. You're not even mad about it, you're certainly not mad when he leans down and ghosts his lips over yours. 

When you lift your head to kiss him, he pulls back, leaving you chasing his aberration. 

He doesn't need to wait for the sexy times. He's already got you wrapped around his fingers. The sound of his laughter is music to your ears, despite your dick being disappointed. Then he's up and pulls you up with him. His fingers skillfully undress you, then he takes off his own clothes. It's a tease for sure, front row seats to the show. You see every scar stretching over his body and the way his muscles move with the rest of him. Not to mention, he's got an ass fit for a rowing club captain. You didn't allow yourselves to enjoy this last night but you can have a treat tonight. Just a bit. 

His eyes silently tell you 'like what you see?' And you can't help but lick your lips in response. But all those dirty little thoughts vanish into thin air when you hold him in your arms, a soft smile tugs at your lips and he mirrors it. 

Your heart is filled with both excitement and fear. Fear that this is all just a joke and he's going to laugh at you, at how desperately you want him and need him, at your fragile heart that beats for him, at how easily he could turn you on and bring you to your knees. You're almost a slave to him but he's kind enough to not take advantage of that. You don't think Titus can be this cruel but you can't help but feel like this is too good to be true. 

You have a habit of fucking up... You're never happy for too long, you know Titus is too good for you, and that the world will never accept you. You have so much to lose. So you best enjoy every moment of this. 

It might just end badly. 


	23. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"So you two are together now?"

"No... yes?? No...?" You shake your head and run your fingers through your messy blonde hair. "I don't know."

"So what? It's clearly not just sex."

"I don't fuckin' know, okay?" You almost yell. Your feelings are a mess and it's really fucking with your temper.

"Why don't you ask him?"

You glare at Kurt with wide angry eyes. Ask him?! What the actual fucking fuck?! "Are you nuts?!"

"Glen, you two are gonna have to talk if you want to really take this further."

But what if you mess up? What if talking just ruins the whole thing? After all this time, you can't imagine going back to square one...

"Do you have commitment issues?"

"What?"

"Are you scared?"

"Tch, don't be stupid, you fuckwad. I ain't scared of shit!"

"Sounds to me like you're scared of a lot of things."

You're not only scared, you're mortified.

"I know how you feel, man. It's terrifying. I don't mean just the feelings you get but everything else. Martinaise just isn't ready for us. It's not ready for us to be a part of its community. We can't be the rugby players, the footballers, or the waiters. We can't even be us in the safety of our own home if people knew," he pauses for a moment, staring at the ceiling as he recollects some memories. "Do you know what they do to queers on the sports team?"

"Dunk their heads in the toilet?"

He chuckles, there’s grief behind it. "Yeah. Sometimes that's not enough though. Sometimes they beat them bloody. Sometimes they even shove things up their assholes. The worst part? If they use it against you like blackmail. They can abuse you and rape you and make you do some nasty shit... and what are you gonna do about It? Nothing. You can't unless you want to risk outing yourself, and it just gets worse from there."

You wonder if something like that happened to him. Surely if it did then he would have packed up and left Martinaise a long time ago. Maybe a friend? Whatever it is, you can feel the sadness in his voice when he speaks, or perhaps, recalls the memories.

It's impossible for you to imagine yourself in a situation like that. To be made that weak… and even worse, to drag Titus into a situation like that as well.

Why couldn't you just be normal? You’re too fucked up to know what normal even is at this point.

You suddenly feel sick. The uneasy feeling remains buried in the pit of your stomach for the rest of the day, uncaring for the amount of liquor you drink in hopes of drowning it or perhaps even making yourself feel ill enough to throw up and cleanse yourself from the weight that buried itself in your intestines.

You can’t look at Titus or your team as they recall their dumbest memories in honor of Jesse. You wonder what they would think if they knew. Are you friends enough with them to overlook this? You doubt it.

“Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah…” The words barely have time to leave your lips before you have your beer can pressing against your lips. You hear Titus shift next to you, he doesn’t say anything but he’s looking at you with suspicion. You try to ignore him and finish up your drink, stacking the can next to all the other empty ones. God damn those eyes, they pierce right into your soul. You sigh and with your free hand, you shove Titus's face away playfully.

A few soft laughs leave his hearty chest and then he goes back to drinking his beer. “You’ve been really quiet.”

“Don’t really got somethin' to say.”

“You always got somethin’ to say.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t now.”

“Come on, Jess was good to us.”

He was an alright dude. You really think it’s shitty that he won’t be here for future games but shit’s fucked. Titus hands you his can, half empty, and invites you to take a drink from it despite all the available beer cans. Of course, you accept. Can’t turn your bro down.

As the night crawls up the sky, your team disbands, leaving only you and Titus. “Where do you wanna go?” He asks as he gets up and dusts the dirt off his clothes. Now is the perfect time to talk, just you and him, about everything. But as you open your mouth, some invisible hand forces your jaw shut. He takes notice. “Somethin’s not right with you, Glenny. What’s goin’ on?”

Talk.

“Nothin’, I’m just thinkin’.”

He would usually make a joke here but he can see now is not the time for that. “About what?”

You shrug. “Everythin’? The past few days? You and me? All of it."

A look of concern flashes on his features but it’s quickly dimmed by the shadow of his cap as he sits back down next to you. “Yeah, man. That was really fucked up. But you know what we can do? We can keep on winnin’ for Jess. Bring home gold, give the trophy to his folks. He’d be real happy about that Just ‘cause someone is dead, don’t mean they’re gone.”

You nod.

“Here.” he hands you a cigarette. Just what you needed. Putting the cigar between your lips, you take a long drag and exhale your worries with the smoke. You might need a pack or two… or ten to clear your mind fully, but this is a good start.

“Don’t you ever worry about…” You wave your hand vaguely, the light of the cigarette follows you.

“About?” He lights a cigarette for himself.

“How we’ll make it?” You mean relationship wise but that’s not how it lands with him.

“We’ve made it this far. Sure we got some scars and there were a few close calls,” you both shiver at the memories of said close calls. The thought that you could have lost one another at one of those times… how would you go on without him? “But we’ve made it and that’s what matters. It’s gonna be tough but you’re a tough motherfucker, Glen Dixon. One day, we’ll make things right.”

That’s all and well but…

“What about,” you point from yourself to him a couple of times. “Whatever this is.” A little insensitive to call your relationship that but it’s all you can manage to say. You don’t know what else to call it. You’ve never been in a committed relationship and though Titus was, he never stayed with them for too long. This felt different though because the two of you were best friends. This was serious. It was a fragile thing, and you couldn’t be trusted with fragile because you’ll fucking break it.

You hope he won’t play dumb this time around. You need to put your mind at ease.

He looks at something in the distance, his expression is distant like he just blacked out, or perhaps he was too focused on finding the right answer. He knows how rough and messy this topic is, especially for you. One word and all your bridges could come crumbling down.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Glen. I said all I can about it.”

Not the answer you were hoping for, it certainly doesn’t make you feel any better.

“You’re scared, right?” He asks as he takes a sudden interest in his smoke. Again with that fucking question!

“I’m not scared!”

“You’re scared,” the older man goes on regardless, ignoring you. “That the team will find out, or worse, Martinaise will.”

Yeah, you’re shitting yourself at the thought.

“What will we do if they find out?”

He looks at you from the corner of his eyes and shrugs. “Does it matter?”

It doesn’t because what will happen next is not fully up to you.

“We’ve been through so much shit together, what makes this any different?”

That’s a good question. Perhaps it’s merely the influence your father has rooted in you. It makes it hard for one part of you to accept the other part. You’re disgusted by what you are and yet you can’t help but crave it. If Titus kissed you right now you would melt on his lips. You hate the fact that you know that.

What good is this anyway? You can’t do all that lovey-dovey bullshit with Titus or any other guy anyway. You’ll be shot on sight. You’re going to spend the rest of your life pretending, just like always. Pretend to your friends that you think women are sexy and you want to fuck ‘em, but you never can. It makes your chest feel tight. You almost choke on your cigarette.

“So… what do we do now?”

He takes another drag and hisses as he exhales. “We could grab a bite to eat. I’m gettin’ kinda hungry. All this beer isn’t really doin’ it for me.”

You go on like you always have.

Hopping to his feet, Titus extends his hand out and you take it. He pulls you up and you make your way to the closest diner. He doesn’t let go of your hand.

When you’re alone, you feel comfortable holding his hand and watching how your fingers fit perfectly between his own, like that’s where your hands are meant to be, like you’re two pieces of the same soul, reuniting one more. But you can’t stand people’s judgmental gazes so when you arrive at the diner, you pull your hand away and shove them in your pocket, the fabric cannot provide you the same kind of loving warmth.

You get yourself some cheesy fries, some garlic bread, and a drink. You slurp on it as Titus talks to you about last week’s game.

“Heard you're really rallyin' up the scene.” He chuckles, not at the fact that people think you could stomp someone’s light out, but at the cheese dripping down your face. It’s like you use your entire face to eat and not just your mouth. You try to wipe it with the back of your hand but only make things worse. Oh, well.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Magazines, locker room,” He shrugs and takes a bite out of the garlic bread. “You did a number on the last team. You keep that up and you might just break more than a few bones. You’ll be a record holder,” Obviously he’s joking but you’re really considering it. Glen Dixon, holder of Revachol’s largest number of brutal tackles. That will sure make people fear you and other teams will know not to mess with the Martinaise Flaming Rhinos! “It’s good,” he goes on and nods, you’re not sure if he’s nodding at you or himself. “Helps you work out some anger issues. You haven’t given me a shiner in a while.”

Rugby was therapeutic for you in a way, like boxing was for Titus. It’s a good way to be angry without hurting anyone… well… not hurting them badly.

You smirk and flex your muscles with pride. “They should know better than to fuck with me.”

Your antics earn you another laugh from Titus. “Yeah, just don’t get cocky now.”

There’s still giggling even after Titus is quiet. You notice then that the girls at the table behind you have witnessed your tough macho man act and, god forbid, they seem to think it’s funny. You turn to them. Titus grins, all charm and charisma. Crow’s feet stretch from the corners of his narrow eyes.

“Wanna join us, ladies?” He gestures for them to come over, they whisper among themselves and then turn away. “Come on, we’ll buy you a couple of drinks.”

They’re probably measuring whether you are worth the time. They decide they want to play. Two girls grab their bags and move to your table, one sitting next to you and one next to Titus. The girl sitting next to you smells like bubblegum and peach. She’s a pretty little thing; long lashes, red lips, long blonde hair, bangs straightened out and covering her eyebrows. Her eyes are emerald green, she looks to be in her early twenties, perhaps just a year or so younger than yourself. It dawns on you then that your order of garlic bread was a terrible one tonight. Not that you’re gonna get any action but…

Titus orders some drinks and the girls settle in fairly quickly.

“So what do you do? Flexing your muscles, I guess you’re a big time boxer or something.”

“Prizefighter, hun. I’m a pro.”

“Oh, a big shot.”

“Glen and I play rugby as well.”

You nod in agreement. “The best fuckin’ team in Martinaise.”

“What team is that?”

“The Rhinos.”

“Big and tough.” They look at each other and snicker. You’re not sure if there’s a game being played here, you were never really the best at understanding women. Maybe all of them were this giggly.

“You bet.” Titus plays along regardless.

You share with the girls some stories about your glorious victories and show off for a chance to impress them. You’re not sure why you do, perhaps it’s the man in you still hoping for a chance that maybe, just maybe, you’ll straighten up and forget about being a queer. Maybe you just need to find the right girl, right?

Is it either of these?

No. When you think of them in your bed, you don’t feel excited. You just fear that it’ll be a disappointment just like every time before it. Nothing about their voluptuous tits make you horny, the thought of your dick in their pussy is just… a thought.

Something in you feels disappointed but it most certainly isn’t your cock ‘cause that bitch doesn’t care.

Regardless you stay with them till the late hours until the rest of the girls call their friends over and they decide to leave. “Maybe we’ll see you around?”

“You know where to find us, ladies.”

They wave goodbye with their pretty colored fingers and then they’re off. Titus looks at you, you look at him. You’re not sure what to say.

“That sure was somethin’, huh?”

“Yeah.” You down the rest of your drink and you’re now left with the bill. Titus and you split the payment and then head home.

“Very nice lookin’ gals.”

“Sure are.”

“But you wouldn’t bang ‘em.”

“I would,” You lie, he laughs at how blatantly obvious it was. “What? I would!”

“Aha. Sure.” He’s not sure why you’re still putting on this facade. Not in general, nah, but when it’s just you and him. You don’t need to lie.

You push him and he quickly closes his arms around your head, locking you in a secure headlock as he rubs his knuckles over your crown of golden hair. The two of you bicker back and forth for a while and then you stand in front of the lake in silence. The moon towers over the water, reflection rippling in the water. You hear the nightly creatures in the distance, adding life to the world around you. The wind is cold and harsh against your skin but it’s nothing new.

Today was good, considering things. You had a good time with some feminine company, you and Titus lived through another day. Now you were tired and you had work tomorrow. Sleep sounds heavenly.

“Will you be stayin’?”

“Do you want me to?”

You blink and stare at Titus in complete and utter confusion. “I always want you to stay.”

He smiles. Your cheeks suddenly feel very warm. “Would be nice to stay but,” he shrugs. “I should go home and see if mom and Tibbs are back.”

Oh, yeah… right.

You wrap your arms around him and he does the same. A bittersweet embrace before a cold goodbye. It’s just for a few hours. But your shack looks like a monster house when you’re on your own. He leaves with a final sweet “Night, Glenny.” And then you’re left to fend for yourself against all the monsters of the world. It sounds pathetic. A big guy like you? You can handle yourself just fine. But not when it comes to fighting your own demons. Those things will crush you in an instance. You don’t stand a chance.

A sound mind in a sound body, something the old folks say. What a load of fucking bullshit. You’re healthier than ever and physically fit, but your mind is a fucking mess.

When you go inside your cozy little home, you’re immediately hit with the smell of food that you forgot to dump in the trash from last night, and the buzzing of flies gathering around it, not to mention all the empty beer cans. To clean or not to clean? That is the question.

You decide to pick up the food at least before it rots and infests your already disgusting house with even more roaches. After tossing it in the trash, you go and find some comfort in your lonely bed. It’s not as warm as you remember it being the nights before.

There’s a strange buzzing in your ear and you feel as though a giant hound is sitting on your chest. You ignore it and stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks to help you fall asleep.

Your eyes drift, your vision becomes hazy, your body feels light, and then… something grips you tightly by the wrist. It feels familiar. Like the hands of Satan himself, scolding hot from the flames of hell. Your eyes snap open. There’s nothing but the darkness staring back at you and yet you feel as though a bruise was beginning to form on your wrist, and the pain moves up your body like a snake, digging its fangs into you, pushing venom into your bloodstream. It burns. You try to ignore it and turn to your side, it feels like being punched in the guts. There’s a ghost fucking with you right now and it wants you to hurt.

The pain proceeds for a while, reminding you of the old days where you would lay breathing heavily on the floor as you struggled for life. You could hear your father’s voice in your ears and feel his alcoholic breath against your skin in the cold, his hand in your hair mocks you with fake kindness, only to yank on it a few moments later. The ghost kicks you in the abdomen repeatedly and relentlessly. It makes your stomach turn and suddenly the pain becomes unbearable. This reminds you of when you were a child and your father's foot in your stomach, kicking repeatedly until your fragile little frame was spitting out stomach acid. You were left to clean off your vomit and blood of those rotting floorboards, wiping with them your childhood and innocence.

Thinking about vomit is making you feel like vomiting. You rush to the bathroom and empty all your dinner into the toilet.

You suddenly feel like death itself is hovering just above you, waiting for you to roll over and die like a dog. You spit one last time into the bowl before flushing it all down the drain, your body shakes as you try to stand but you somehow find the power to turn on the light and wash your face. As you stare at your tired reflection, you suddenly remember how much you hate looking at yourself. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt like this. Your body has healed where it could. But your scars are there to tell you that you’ll never get rid of this feeling. It’s just as much of a part of you as they are.

To break the mirror right now would give you so much satisfaction… but you don’t.

You might not know this, my friend, but this is what depression is like. This is anxiety, the great monster that needs no reason to torment you. It simply does. It comes at any time, whether you are happy or not, to remind you that you are nothing but pathetic human filth. You’re fucked up, Glen Dixon. It’s just what you are. There’s no running away from it. You are Sisyphus, rolling the rock up the hill, again, and again, and again. Forever.

The world out there is merely a distraction. You don't realize it but you leave the house, go to work, drink beer with your friends, live the life of stardom, and yet you return to this broken house of one every night. All that is just an illusion to keep you from this. Perhaps even Titus himself is merely that, a distraction. A dangerous distraction so you don’t have to be alone and face this dark and grim reality.

You think of the beer in your fridge and wonder if you have enough cans to drink yourself to sleep, but you can’t show up to work drunk, or worse, hungover. There are other ways to wear yourself out like drugs, or the healthy way, with a long jog across the lake. The choice is obvious. You would have really went for the drinks if it weren’t for your job.

When you finally find the energy to look away from your horrid reflection, you put something heavy on and head outside for a quick run. The moon is a giant orb over the lake, you keep your eyes on it for a while as you jog. The wildlife and perhaps even otherworldly creatures eye you from a safe distance, hiding behind bushes and in their nests, while the ones that pay you no mind croak and cricket. Life goes on.

You race against the moon as it marathons around the world until you reach the other side of the lake. There’s nothing there but debris and more trees. You never really explored much of the area despite living here for a couple of years now. Could be a fun activity for you and Titus later. You kneel down beside the water and watch your reflection dance with the tide. Your fingers shatter your image but it slowly comes back together. Another angry punch, the water splashes but it does nothing to stop your reflection from reappearing.

You bring your hand up to your face and recall memories of you and Titus sitting by some rock near the sea where the docks are. You were fourteen, young, with a face full of bandaids.

“I’ll pull it off slowly, alright?” He told you as he began peeling off the bandaid on your nose and then YANK, he ripped it off all at once. You yelped as the glue threatened to rip your skin off with the bandaid. “See? That wasn’t so bad. Now we just got a couple more to go."

The waves wash away the rest of the memory. Your nose tingles in response and you rub it with your fingers. The ones on your arms were the toughest ones to yank off. You’re one hairy fucking gorilla.

By the time you return to your shack, it’s already time to get ready for work. No rest for the wicked. You quickly change into your uniform and head out. You usually meet Titus halfway where your roads meet but he doesn’t show up. You wait for a while but he doesn’t make an appearance. Maybe he’s already at the dock?

When you go there, you don’t find him. His locker remains untouched since the last time he’s used it. You feel panic rise inside of you. What if something had happened to him? Titus is a great fighter, you don’t need anyone to tell you that. You’ve seen him in the ring and you’ve seen him kick ass out of the ring. Of course, you’ve also experienced his strength first hand but with what happened with Jess recently, you can’t help but assume the worst.

You sneak out of the docks and make a run for Titus’s home. Your brain says knock but your fists punch the door violently, the sound echoes with the wind. “Titus?” You call out. No response. The windows don’t tell you much either. You suddenly think of breaking and entering. After knocking a few more times and getting no answer, you get ready to break the door down with the power of your shoulder. You take a few steps back and that’s when you notice the neighbor looking at you.

“The Hardies aren’t home,” He says. “He and his brother argued about somethin’ last night, woke me up in the middle of the damn night. The two left after. Never came back.”

Tibbs was back, that only meant one thing. Something was wrong with Mrs. Hardie.

“You see where they went?”

“How the fuck would I know, boy?”

You don’t have a good relationship with this guy that’s for sure. Probably because you and Titus broke his windows a few times and maybe sometimes you’re a bit too rowdy and loud but who fucking cares. You’re just boys being boys.

Regardless, it doesn’t take you a lot of brains to figure that he must have gone to the nearest hospital, or that he’s most likely still on his way there. The car he got for work wasn’t here, so he must have taken it to go there. You won’t be able to follow them unless you steal a car from work and though that idea is appealing as hell and sounds like fun, you decide it’s best to wait for him to return. Probably with bad news. Nothing you can do now but go back to work.

The big man in his chair probably knows you sneaked out. He knows everything. You could go and ask him where Titus went and he could probably tell you but you don’t really like the big man. Something about his weird frog like eyes freaks you out.

The day drags on. Work is long and lonely. It’s pretty tough without Titus around, not because he’s not there with you, but because no one else here can read so the big man had to send someone to fill in for Titus. A girl, dark skin, fuzzy black hair. She had that cold look in her eyes like she shouldn’t be messed with. You watched her kick a man overboard and into the sea when he tried to hit on her. Scary.

You wait for Titus all night but he’s a no-show. Another sleepless night.

Your mind takes you back again, to older days when Mrs. Hardie had no whites in her hair and you and Titus were just kids. She was always nice to you, the mother you never had. She said you could call her mom too when you were just a little boy. You think now maybe you should have. Not that it makes any difference, but you just feel like maybe you weren’t grateful enough for everything she’s done for you. She loved you like her own son. You feel longing for your younger days. Things were simpler then, fishing with Titus and his old man, bullying Tiberius, and having some of Mrs. Hardie’s famous pie.

All that is built in years, gone in a few seconds.

But you’re thinking too far ahead. Mrs. Hardie isn’t dead yet, as far as you know…

Only time will tell, and time is often cruel to all creatures.


	24. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in one week? Yes. Just as a treat. We're actually half way through the story. Well-- I am at least. For those who don't know, I write ahead of what is actually published so I'm maybe 4-5 chapters ahead. The last chapter of this story is actually done (no, don't worry. It's not 4-5 chapters ahead. We're just close enough that I could already write the ending). 
> 
> I'm excited to get there but also saddened. We started this story on the 14th of Jan, 2020. The first draft, the first concept designs. That's almost a year ago. After working on something for so long, it leaves you empty once you near its end. On one hand, you've made it. You finally finished a long project, but on the other hand... This project has been so important to you so you're not sure what comes next. Personally, I think I'll keep on writing side stories set in this universe. I really enjoy exploring Glen and Titus's lives before the events of the game and even before the Hardie boys. I know Gaith is going to keep drawing... So who knows where we'll go from there. But regardless, we're getting there and that makes me happy. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the rest of the journey.

**Chapter 22**

"Alright. That's the last of 'em." Titus claps his hands together after having set down his bag. You take a long hard look at his face, he's smiling. You're bad at reading him.

You'd like to ask him if he's alright but you're not sure if you should. He catches you staring.

"Thanks for lettin' me stay. Don't wanna be home and hear Tibbs gettin' it on with his gal."

"Yeah, sure. No worries."

Mrs. Hardie had passed away peacefully in her sleep with her sons by her side. Tiberius has taken the house to live with his girlfriend. Titus started looking for a place of his own, till then, he's crashing here.

It was a tough week, but Titus was trying to keep it together. He and his brother will manage, of course, they will. They’re Hardies. Their father was the toughest man you've ever known and though Tiberius sure isn't like Titus, he was strong in his own way.

“I got my eyes on a place. Should be able to afford it with next month’s pay.”

“It’s not like you haven’t been spendin’ most your time here anyway.”

True. Just as you spent most of your time at his place as a kid, to get away from home. You feel a giant grip on your shoulder, Titus squeezes gently. “How you holdin’ up?”

You shrug. “The fuck you askin’ me for? It ain’t my ma that just passed away.”

His smile doesn’t fade. “Yeah, but it’s just been tough the past month, for the both of us.”

“I’ll live. What about you?”

“Livin’ is all we can really do, bud.” He pats your shoulder.

You spend the day helping him set up his own little cozy space in your shack. There’s no separating your clothes from his or tagging your gym equipment so you don’t get it mixed up with his. He wears your shorts and you wear his shirt. You lie lazily on the couch, listening to the game, he’s on the opposite one listening intently. The only time any of you get up it’s to have a bite to eat or drink beer. The living room holds the echoes of your shouts when one team gets close to scoring. It’s a good thing you have no neighbors.

After the game you see Titus jotting down some notes. The two of you share a few opinions on how the game went and then you light up a smoke. Titus stands by the door that is now open, looking at the darkened world outside. The sound of the lake in the distance captures his attention. You stand beside him, leg pressed against the wall, eyeing him from the corner of your eyes. He exhales, smoke fading with the wind before handing it to you. You don’t say anything as he looks at you, the two of you simply stare at one another wordlessly. You inhale, the smoke fills your lungs. The tip of the cigar flickers. You’re unaware of how yellow your teeth have gotten from your excessive smoking. At this rate, you might just die of lung cancer.

As you exhale, you watch your friend’s face become abstracted by the cloud of grey. He waves his hand to get rid of it. A chuckle crawls its way up to your throat but you swallow it down upon meeting his gaze once more. He takes a step closer to you and plucks the cigar out of your hand, you let him. When he takes in the smoke, you know it’s payback time. He leans towards you and blows cancer onto your face. You breathe it in and bring your hand up to the back of his head, you don’t need to push him closer, he already closes the gap between the two of you and shares the nicotine on your lips. You breathe smoke into him and he gladly accepts. The kiss is brief but it makes your head light regardless. He takes another drag when you part before putting out the cigarette and flicking it onto the ground outside then he steps inside and closes the door. “Come on, sleep time. Long day at work tomorrow.”

You’re not tired but you nod anyway. He told you he’d take the couch and you spend the next hour arguing about it. You agree you’ll take turns. He’ll take the bed on the first night. You could just… share the bed, but you know it wouldn’t be too comfortable for the both of you to squeeze into the small space. The night is calm. It’s easy for you to fall asleep.

* * *

The wind blows heavily, you put on your beanie hat, tugging strands of your hand under it. Titus adjusts his hat to keep it from flying off. “Alright fellas, best we get this done quickly and we can all be smoking cigarettes and drinking something warm before night time.” He announces to the workers before looking down at the list. You glance from over his shoulders and though you know the letters, they don’t make sense to you when they're all combined together. You seriously need to learn how to read. You get most of your basic knowledge from having attended a few "classes" with Titus, those classes mainly being his mom reviewing his homework with him.

Reading is for losers anyway, I hear you say. Yeah, you’re a loser.

“Dixon! You gonna help or what?” Your coworkers yell for you as they start grabbing the goods to load them.

Titus chuckles. “Pick up the slack, Dixon.”

“Yeah, whatever, Hardie.”

“After we’re done here, I got some work to do up at the office. Shit to file. Boring shit,” He says. You snort. See? That’s what you get when you’re smart. You get boring shit. “I’ll meet you for drinks after I’m done.”

You nod.

“DIXON!”

“Alright! Fuck! I’m comin’.”

The day is uneventful. You watch the ships come and go from the docks. The only lifeline Martinaise has left and it's owned by some rich snobs. The system continues to fuck your people over. It's never been about living in Martinaise, just survival. You’re surviving.

You rub your shoulders and shrug them a couple of times to get rid of the slight pain from carrying the cargo. Overhead you see the heavier goods being loaded into the ship via cranes. Big long red and blue colored cargo boxes. You like working the cranes. You don’t often get the chance to ride a monster like that.

The hours pass. You have your chance at a cigarette during break. The big guy upstairs doesn’t like you smoking at work but fuck him, you really need this.

Your hands are rough, you rub your thumb against your palm, often protected by fingerless red gloves, you can feel your skin, cracked and harsh beneath your finger. The hands of a hard worker. An athlete. A man. You stare at your hand as the cigarette flickers with the wind. Your fingers close around an invisible throat and squeeze the life out of it. You see the veins in your hands and the way your skin becomes white when each digit curls into your palm. They shake slightly… and then you stop. The nonexistent ghost has already died and passed on. You look at your hands again, stained with blood.

Ghosts don’t have blood, you seriously need to cut back on the drugs.

“Glen?” You look up to see Titus. How long has he been standing there for? “The fuck are you doing?”

“Nothin’. Just havin’ a smoke.”

He snatches the cigarette from between your lips, takes a drag, then stomps on it, killing it.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, man. You know the rules.”

You sigh. The only laws you gotta follow around here and you hate them. Maybe Martinaise is better off with no rules or laws.

“Come on, let’s finish up our work here.”

You click your tongue, putting your gloves back on and tugging your beanie back into place before preparing to battle with the harsh wind once more.

“And then my old man shot it right between the eyes!”

“No way!”

“Yep. Tibbs screamed like a girl. Blood everywhere."

The two of you laugh at the story of Tiberius joining one of the hunting trips with Titus and their father. How the youngest Hardie froze when he saw a bear and how Atticus had to save the day. You were always impressed by Mr. Hardie’s hunting skills. For a man who had one good eye, he sure was a good shot.

You get another drink, the alcohol makes you feel warm. Around you, Martinaise is lively. There’s an annoying drunk on the karaoke stage singing his lungs out, smokers smoking, chicks gossiping. The usual.

“You know, Glenny? You never did tell me what happened that night.”

You know what he means. You never talked about it.

Suddenly your reflection in your drink becomes the center of your focus. He looks at you in anticipation and yet with patience. “The fuck you think happened?” You say quickly before taking a sip of your drink. You’ll never be drunk enough to talk about your old man. Beer isn’t enough. Maybe a few vodkas will do the trick… maybe.

“You didn’t just kill the guy, Glen. I knew he was a cunt but damn man. You cut him up and shit.”

Your expression becomes stiff and cold. You don’t want to remember him. You want to move on.

There’s nothing to say so you just shrug.

Titus keeps his eyes on you, perhaps wondering if there’s more to this. Perhaps he’s curious to know what you felt at that moment when you had him at your mercy. You felt like a god. You felt powerful. All the things he’s kept you from feeling. It was the best fucking high you’ve ever felt.

“What the fuck? Glen! Stop!”

You snap out of your thoughts and suddenly feel a sharp pain in your hand. You’ve broken the glass you were drinking out of and the shards have dug themselves deep into your skin, cutting your fingers and your palm. Your blood drips onto the table, your pants, and the floor. Titus was frantically attempting to wipe it with what tissues that were given to him by the bartender. He takes your injured hand and plucks out the shards of glass, the ones that haven’t sunk too deep into your skin anyway. You wince at the stinging sensation that has consumed you.

“Get up,” He says and drags you to the bathroom where he washes the blood off. “I’m gonna need to bandage that up. Not sure if they got any rolls in here. Just keep this on it.” He presses the tissues on your hand, they’re slowly getting more and more soaked with blood.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

You yank your hand away. “It’s whatever.” In truth, it hurts but show no weakness!

He glares at you but his expression quickly softens as the two of you walk out of the bathroom.

"Sorry about that," Titus apologizes to the bartender. "He's a clumsy idiot sometimes." You leave after you pay for your drinks and the broken cup. "You got the big bad shadows, man." He tells you.

"The fuckin' what?"

"The shadows. Ya know. Big assholes that make you feel like shit."

He means depression. You got depression. He regrets bringing up old ghosts.

"I don't got no dumb shadow 'cept my shadow." Spoken like a true clueless idiot.

"We should get back to your place and bandage that up before it gets infected."

Just then, a girl storms out of the bar behind you, visibly upset. You could tell by her... walk. She's stomping. The girl could break her heels walking like this.

A man follows behind her and as he reaches to grab her, she quickly moves away. "Leave me alone!" She yells.

The man is drunk, the dumb fucking smile on his face is all the evidence that you need. He doesn't back off.

"Hey!" Titus yells at him. "The lady said leave her alone."

The man pays the two of you no attention.

"Hey, fucko! We're talkin' to you!" You step in.

Finally, the man looks up at you. "Mind your own fucking business."

And just like that, your temper jumps from zero to a hundred. Titus puts his hand on your shoulder.

"Don't do anything stupid, Glen. We don't know if this guy is armed."

Your shoulders lose tension and you finally calm down. Good thing you never leave the house unarmed. You got your gun... but who's gonna pull the trigger first if it comes to that?

Titus takes a step forward. "Listen, the lady wants to be left alone, alright? Why don't you just go home? You're drunk. Don't do anythin' you're gonna regret when you sober up."

"This bitch was all over me just a few seconds ago." He yanks her by the arm.

"Well, she changed her mind."

"Cock teasing whore."

The woman looks extremely uncomfortable as he tries to get her arm out of the man's giant grip.

"Let go!"

Titus takes another step closer, you follow carefully.

"See? She wants to go home. Let her leave and we can all go our separate ways, alright? We don't got to start no trouble."

He laughs. You look down at his belt. He has a knife on him. It's not too clear in the dark but you think it might be a hunting knife. No gun, as far as you're able to tell.

You can risk it and go for an attack, knock him out. But you wait for Titus's orders. You nudge him and draw his attention to the knife with your eyes. He nods, it's barely visible but you got the message.

"Alright. My friend here wants you to know that he's got a gun. You don't want it to get to that, okay? We don't want to shoot you."

His laughter dies and his expression becomes serious. "You're bluffing."

"We could be, but are you gonna risk it?"

He hesitates and you see his hand twitching. You think he's gonna go for the knife. You move your hand back to reach for your gun.

Then he lets the woman go. "Whatever," he says. "Bitch isn't worth it." And then he walks away.

A part of you is disappointed you didn't get to scare the man a bit with your gun. Your fingers were aching for some action.

"Thank you." The woman says. Titus gives her his good old charming smile.

"No problem, miss. Can't have people causing trouble in our town."

"What are you? The sheriff?" She says jokingly.

Titus looks like he's seriously considering it for a moment.

"Anyway, thank you again. Who knows what that asshole would have done to me if you didn't step in."

Titus nods. "We could walk you home if you'd like." Or she could come over to your place, maybe that's more of what Titus meant. Sounds more like him.

"No, it's fine. Goodnight." Save the girl and still get rejected.

"Alright. Walk home safe now."

As she leaves, Titus couldn't help but take a peek at her behind. You do the same. Woof woof that ass is so round you could play it like bongos! Now, what makes you any better than that other guy you just scared off? Sure you're not reaching out to grab her without consent but undressing her with your eyes is still a pretty shitty thing to do.

The slightly shorter man wraps his arm around you. "Come on, let's go home. We still need to get that hand of yours fixed up."

The walk home is peaceful. You wonder if the woman made it back alright.

You wash your hand again back at home. The water stings.

"You got any needles here?"

"Why the fuck would I need needles? Do I look like a sew or some shit? I got some tweezers."

"Rubbin' alcohol?"

"Inside the cabinet."

You hiss as Titus cleans the wound with the alcohol and uses the tweezers to part the skin just enough to pluck out the remaining shards of glass, tossing the little shards into the sink. He cleans the wound one last time before wrapping your hand in a bandage.

"This is gonna make work real shitty for you tomorrow. Don't put too much pressure on it."

"Can't do that."

"Well, try."

His thumb gently rubs over your covered wound and he smiles at you, you smile back. His skin is just as rough as yours and yet... it's gentle.

An ancient question clogs your throat. You try to swallow it down but it's stuck. You want to know the answer so much but you can't bring yourself to speak so you just look away.

"Thanks."

"Yeah. Sure," he grins. You recognize that smile. It's trouble. "No need for me to kiss it better or anything, huh?"

You shove your hand in his face and he laughs.

Another day. Another adventure.

"Hey, Glen?" Titus calls from next to you as the two of you lie down facing the ceiling.

"Yeah?"

"Remember when we were kids and we used to play treasure hunters?"

You chuckle. "Sure do."

Someone, typically Titus's mom or dad, would write down a list of things, most of the time they would be groceries, and they would have you and Titus go on an adventure to find them. At least that's what it seemed like at the time. Now they realized they were just suckered into shopping for the house.

Sometimes you and Titus would make your own list and venture into the unknown to find the dumbest shit like "A triangle-shaped rock" or a specific type of worm.

Most of the time you would stumble upon bullets and sometimes even decayed old bodies, some bones and skeletons. Fun stuff. Definitely normal stuff for a ten year old to find and just shrug off.

"I remember one time you broke your arm climbing a tree just to fight with a squirrel."

"Yeah, it was stealin' our shit!"

"It was a squirrel, Glen."

"A piece of shit squirrel!"

"And the time you wanted to wrestle a wolf?"

"That bitch just took our fish! It was a good catch!"

He grins at you. He never wants you to change.

You look at the ceiling and imagine the sky beyond. Dozens of stars decorating the dark blue space. You can hear Titus breathing next to you clearly. You wish you could ask him to stay forever, but your house isn't built for two.

You could close your eyes and imagine.

Fall asleep and dream.

The older man begins humming. It adds to the relaxing atmosphere. You listen to him until his voice becomes distant and then sleep finally takes over.

* * *

“You’re what?!”

“Leaving, Glen. Me and Elliot. We thought about it for a long time, and I was gonna tell you sooner, man. But,” The footballer scratches the back of his head. “You got anger issues so.”

“Fuck you! Leavin’ and goin’ where? Jamrock?”

He shrugs. “Nah. I got a chance to make it big outside. Besides, you know Martinaise isn’t safe.”

“Revachol ain’t fuckin’ safe! The entirety of Elysium ain’t fuckin’ safe, Kurt.”

“Yeah. But it’s better than being here. Look around you, Glen. People are fucking dying on the streets every day. Children. You’ll die before you get to the nearest hospital. I don’t want that for me and Elliot.”

“The pigs won’t help.”

“I know.”

You rub your knuckles together. This choice isn’t yours to make. Kurt isn’t here to ask you for permission if he could leave or not. He just wanted to let you know.

“When are you leavin’?”

“Sometime this week.”

You have no right to be angry but you feel abandoned. You can’t fault the man for trying to look for a better future for himself and his lover but…

“Hey, I’m just your fuck buddy, right? Chin up. There are other dudes who would love to get the bone from you.”

You two stopped fucking a long time ago. This isn’t about that anymore.

“And you got Titus,” he punches you playfully on the shoulder. “Lots of chicks would kill to be as close to him as you are.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“We’ll write to you.”

You snarl at him. He knows you can’t fucking read.

A chuckle. “Have Titus read it for you. I promise I’ll behave. No flirty letters,” There’s a pause. The silence stretches over the horizon as the two of you stare at nothing in particular and then he looks back at you. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Cup season is for all sports.”

“Yeah.”

“Invite me to the wedding if you and Titus ever figure it out. Maybe we can provide the food. Elliot always wanted to open up his own diner."

Now you’re the one throwing punches and yours was harsh and not humorous at all. “Shut up!”

Kurt laughs regardless and rubs his shoulder where you had struck him. “Really though, Glen. I just want to see you be happy. I know your manly persona is important to you and all that, but you have to think about what’s more important. Proving you're a man to a bunch of nobodies? Or your happiness?”

You kick your legs with the wind. Your brain is not trained for this sort of thinking. “It’s not just that.” The words finally leave your lips.

“I know. Lots of shit to worry about. You got a career ahead of you and Martinaise is not too kind to us. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

He has way too much faith in you, too bad you’re a major let down.

A weight crushes on your chest, it's the giant that is the anxiety of an uncertain future. You huff and puff your chest. You’re too strong to feel anxiety! Whatever you face in the future, whether alone or not, you can take it!

You spend what precious time you have left with Kurt talking about whatever comes to mind. Tomorrow, he might be ready to leave.

* * *

The weight and force of your body is heavy against bulks of muscles as you try to shove and push against them. Your shoulders collide, It’s a bulls fight. The grass beneath your feet gives out. The rain dripping on your heads doesn’t slow you down, even when the ground becomes slippery and muddy. You and the light-head prop battle it out, teeth gritting, bones crunching, muscles twitching. The sound of the whistle forces you to call things a tie. You didn’t even have time to go all in yet, otherwise, you would have dropped this bitch faster than his mother when she gave birth to him!

“Easy, Dixon,” The coach says. You’re hungry for blood and it shows. You and Titus are the youngest on the team, your fighting spirit still burns with a passion. You’ve got enough stored anger to last you a lifetime, Rugby shakes it off. “If only you kicked as well as you broke bones.”

Yeah, well, you’re a prop, not a kicker. It’s not your fault you got big muscles and you always kick the ball too far. Technically it still goes over the crossbars so you’re not sure what the big deal is.

You head to the locker room when you finish practice. Your clothes are wet and brown with mud, your hair smells like grass. Your shoes leave a print on the floor where you walk. You need a shower, pronto!

Your team is loud, chatting about something that happened at the bar the other day. You laugh at their bad imitation of female voices as you grab your spare clothes from your locker. “Say, we were gonna actually take our girls ice skating later. You two wanna join? Seeing that you’re practically dating.” The team snickers, Titus chuckles with them. It’s a harmless joke, don’t let it get to you.

“Don’t look so pissed, Dixon. We’re just having a laugh.”

“He’s not pissed,” another says, “that’s just his resting bitch face.”

Your brows knot and you growl at them like a feral animal. Titus is too occupied with his locker to really care about them poking you. He expects them to know better by now.

“When are we meetin’?” He finally responds to them after having picked up his bag and a spare towel.

“Weekend. You guys don’t gotta work then, right?”

He shrugs. “Depends. But I’m sure the weekend is fine. Y’all better not be trippin’ on your asses in front of your ladies.”

Another round of laughter and then you take turns going into the showers.

You watch as the dirt goes down the drain, the water can clean your body but you take extra care of your hair. Gotta keep those golden locks pretty and silky smooth.

A sigh escapes your lips and you’re not sure if it’s from being tired or the soreness in your shoulders that becomes amplified as the water caresses your body. Somewhere in the showers behind you, you hear your teammates laughing as they jokingly compliment each other on their firm asses and the size of their dicks. You shake your head, you don’t want the image getting stuck in there… not now.

You don’t really think your teammates are attractive, well they are. You’d lie if you said you didn’t sometimes take a peek yourself. In all honesty, if it was normal, you would turn your back right now and watch them in all their nude glory. Would you fuck any of them? Maybe. You need to be drunk enough to fuck ‘em. Then again, you always need to be drunk to fuck anyone.

You hear the slapping of towels and the playful shouts from behind you. A smirk creeps its way up to your lips. Often times you and the team would slap each other with rolled towels. Something they did back in school, they said. It was childish but enjoyable. It hurt, so of course, a sadist like you would think it’s fun.

Turning off the water, you exit the shower and try not to get in the way of anyone running around the slippery floor as they chase each other with snapping towels. You twist yours and decide to join in on the fun. You may slap that ass… once. Water splatters beneath your feet as you chase your prey and also get chased yourself. Just a couple of guys running around and chasing each other naked, no homo. This is gay heaven.

You come to a halt when you look at Titus who stares at you in a mix of disbelief and amusement. He’s not disappointed that you and the team act like a bunch of kids, he’s actually glad to see you having fun.

“Alright, girls. You’re using up all the hot water. Scram before I give you all a good whacking.”

“Yes, sir!” The team responds mockingly as they cover up their dangling dongs and peach round asses with their towels and exit the bathroom, you follow.

After you get dressed and dry your hair, tying it back in a man bun to keep it from making your clothes wet, you and Titus head to one of the local shops to get some ice cream and then head to a spot in the docks that you discovered while working. You like to call it “The Graveyard.” That’s because it’s full of old broken and rusty cargo containers that are no longer in use. There’s a bunch of graffiti on them, tagged by some kids who think they’re edgy or have nothing better to do. You manage to climb up one of the containers without spilling your ice cream then you help your friend up. The two of you stare at the rest of the graveyard beneath you. The sight is nothing of interest but it’s something to look at regardless.

“Kurt told me he was leavin’.”

You pretend like you don’t care.

“How are you feelin’?”

A shrug. “Why the fuck would I care?”

“He was your friend, wasn’t he?”

“It was whatever.”

Titus nudges you, you move away. “Come on, it wasn’t whatever. You two got along surprisingly well.”

“What? You jealous?”

He laughs. “Nah. Why would I be? I know you’re my best bud,” He sounds genuine but a part of you wonders if he’s actually ever felt jealous of Kurt. Titus Hardie? Jealous? Bullshit and you know it. You let your legs swing with the wind as you take a bite out of your ice cream. Titus does the same. Then he looks at you again, wiping the ice cream from his lips with his gloved hand. “You want to go ice skating with the guys this weekend?”

Another shrug. “I guess,” It’s not like you have anything better to do.”You gonna bring anyone?”

“I’m takin’ you aren’t I?”

You laugh out of relief. “I thought I was the one takin’ you.”

“No. I’m takin’ you.”

“I asked first so.”

“You asked, I said. There’s a difference.”

You’re not sure why you’re ‘arguing’ in the end it doesn’t matter who asked and who said.

“Alright.” You settle.

“It’s a date then.”

You almost drop your ice cream upon hearing that. You think suddenly you’ve suddenly got a brain freeze cuz there’s a sharp pain in your skull, or that could be your brain trying to comprehend what Titus just said.

Oh, come on. You’re not a teenage boy with a crush anymore.

“You alright?”

Must be something in the way your face looks right now, it’s worrisome. “Yeah,” an awkward smile forms like a train wreck on your lips. “I’m fine.” He looks at you for a while then goes back to enjoying his ice cream. You really gotta pull yourself together, man.

Regardless, the day goes on and you and Titus find less awkward things to talk about.

* * *

It smells horrid in here. You hear the radio in the distance, turned on to some broadcast. You can’t quite make out what they’re saying. It’s muffled. When your eyes open you realize that your face is pressed against the cold hard floor. You push yourself up and let your eyes adjust to your surroundings, and that’s when you almost let out a shriek of horror. You recognize the rotting walls and old putrid wooden floors. You rush to the door only to notice that the handle is higher than it should be. You turn the handle anyway but the door is locked. A familiar scenario. There’s nothing to do but pace around the room, and that’s when you see the mirror. Your hair is short, your face young and full of bandaids. You’re a child once more, locked in a room. It’s where father left you to rot when you were a bad boy, and you were often that to him. You would get little food but a lot of beating. Daddy never liked it when you made too much noise.

Night time was the worst in this room, the only light came from the small window, too small for even your figure to squeeze through and escape. The moon was your best friend. Your mind was left playing tricks on you in the dark. Thinking about it made your body shiver.

This was a dream, it must be. You’re not ten anymore. The monster you know as your father is dead, you killed him. You know you did… and yet, when you hear those dreadful steps coming closer, you doubt reality.

The door unlocks, you brace yourself. There, standing before you is the giant figure of a ghost you thought was gone. When it grips you, it feels all too real. You could smell the booze on its hallow breath. There’s nothing but anger in its eyes, they’ve never known love. Its hands show no kindness, especially not when they come down on your fragile little frame. You struggle to get out of its grip but you’re not strong enough. You’re never strong enough. Your vision becomes hazy with every punch, you feel the blood going down your face. A tooth comes loose, but your father leaves little time for you to spit it out. You can only hope that you don’t swallow it and choke… or perhaps death is a mercy. If all you’ve lived was a lie and you’re still trapped in this hell, you would rather die. You don’t have the energy to live through this again. You’re too tired of fighting that you almost want to beg. Beg him to stop and leave you alone, or perhaps beg him to just kill you.

There’s a ringing in your ear from the pain, you can’t hear what profanities it’s spitting at you nor do you care to listen. You don’t need any form of imagination to know it’s probably calling you a worthless child, that you’re good for nothing, that you’re always being loud and bitchy. Why can’t you be a good boy? Why must you make daddy so angry?

Then it stops. You hear the sound of something crashing outside and it catches the monster’s attention. It drops you and leaves you spitting blood on the floor. You’re too tired to move, barely keeping yourself up, you drift in and out of consciousness. You watch the beast drag itself outside to inspect the noise, slamming the door shut behind it and bolting it closed. You’re not getting out of here.

“Pssst,” you hear from somewhere. Your finger twitches. You want to get up but you can’t. “Hey, Glenny,” A familiar angelic voice. “Come on, you have to get up before your old man comes back.”

You can’t.

“Get up.”

You try but your body doesn’t respond.

“We’re gonna get you out of there, bud. All you gotta do is get up...”

Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up.

You hear the footsteps stomping back to where you lie helpless on the floor. The lock clicks, the door opens. The stomps get louder and louder. Your eyes are met with the sight of two gaping holes of a shotgun muzzle. Another click, and a final shout.

“GET UP!”

Your eyes snap open and in the darkness you see a slightly shorter figure leaning over you in the dark.

“Howdy.” Titus’s voice is calm. He went through a lot of effort to shake you awake. It was just a bad dream. You’re sweating and panting. You don’t even realize your body is shaking. It takes a while for you to calm down but when you do you run your hand through your hair. And finally, focus your eyes on the other man in the room.

“Hey.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah.” You lie.

“Bad dream?”

You lie back down and ignore his question. You don’t want to bring back old shit.

“What was it?”

“I don’t remember.” Another lie.

“Maybe you should cut back on the beer.”

“Yeah.” You say again.

He lies next to you and you try not to think about that flash from the past. Just close your eyes, fall back asleep. What are the odds that you’ll have two nightmares in a row, right?

* * *

The ice is slippery beneath your feet. During the winter, anywhere in Martinaise could be an ice rink if you’re brave and stupid enough, which sadly you are.

Your teammates skate past you, each of them holding a fine lady in hand, by fine ladies, I mean they’re all just slightly different variants of one another. One is blonde, the other is brunette, one has green eyes, one has hazel eyes, one has blue eyes. But they all have one thing in common… skinny hourglass shaped bodies. You won’t catch an athlete going out with a chubby girl, no sir. Not even slightly chubby. Dudes like their fat stored in the boobs. It’s a stigma, you’re told that fat girls are ugly. You believe it because everyone says it, kind of like how everyone says being gay is wrong but it’s not like you killed a man. I mean, you have but not because the gay demons told you to. That’s not the point here. The point is people always say things; Man up, sit down, chin up, pipe down, socks up, don’t cry, drink up, don’t whine. You know. Shit they say to get you to become a robot, man. Do what the authority wants or whatever the fuck.

Anyway, the girls are pretty, there’s no denying that. Round boobs, round ass. They look like they give great head but what the fuck do you know about that? TLDR; You’re gay, not blind.

“Waitin’ for someone?” Titus says from next to you.

“Yeah, some asshole who took too long to put his shoes on.”

“Well, that asshole bets he could race you to the other side of the rink.

“You’re on!”

As is expected, Titus is already off. You rush behind him, dodging folks who are here just to have a good time. You try not to look back on the people you caused to stumble and fall. Reaching forward, you grab Titus’s jacket and he tries to stay balanced on the ice but as he slips, he grabs you and brings you down with him. The two of you laugh through the pain of a thousand needles piercing your backs

“Cheater.”

“It’s called playin’ dirty.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

You feel specks of cold snow hit your cheek and then Monty is towering over you. “The fuck you two doing? You wanna get your throats slit?”

“Just enjoying the view of the sky, or were, now your big head is blocking it.”

You snicker at Titus’s insult. Monty doesn’t look impressed.

The two of you stand up. Your back is fucked but eh, you can walk it off. Back to skating!

“Give me your hand.”

You blink at Titus and his odd request. “What?

“Your hand.”

“Why?”

“So I can detach it and punch someone with it. To hold it, the fuck else would I do with it?”

You look down at your hand, at his hand, and then back at him. “You serious?”

“Wanna do a cool spinny trick or not?”

Oh. That makes more sense. Phew. God forbid he wants to hold your hand romantically even though you’re technically on a date.

You give him your hands, he holds on tight, and then he moves like clockwork, you follow, and soon you gain momentum, spinning faster and faster. The world becomes a blur and then he lets go of one, almost causing you to teeter and fall. You keep spinning regardless until you can’t spin anymore.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He laughs. “Me too.”

It’s difficult to return to steady land. The two of you skate like hammered drunks At least it was fun. Good thing you didn’t have anything to eat before going in.

You sit down on a bench overlooking the skaters. Some of your teammates are there, some have retreated to find a sneaky make out corner no doubt, or a quickie maybe.

“Are you havin' fun?”

You nod. “Tch. Of course. You?”

“We haven’t caused any major incidents yet so there’s still time to raise the fun bar.” A joke, don’t take that too seriously.

You look back at the skaters as Titus fishes in his bag for a water bottle. Couples skating hand in hand, girlfriends chatting on the ice, bros having a good time. It’s peaceful which is uncommon for Martinaise. That’s not a good sign.

“Checkin’ out the pretty ladies?” The older man jokes, you fake interest in a certain chick to make him doubt himself but he doesn’t bite. “Wanna go back in or should we grab a bite to eat?”

It’s too early to leave the rink. You could go for another round.

You stay and cause some harmless trouble in the rink with Titus, you chat up some ladies and continue to try and break each other’s bones by pushing and shoving each other playfully until you fall down. Once your team retreats, you follow them for dinner at a small diner near the rink. It’s loud and busy, full of teenagers and young adults.

This is your kinda vibe. Hustling and bustling bars and diners, drinking beers with friends, making jokes, having fun, looking “respectfully” at some tiddies. You know, typical dude-bro stuff.

Things are going good, perhaps too good. You should fear what monsters await for you tonight.

“I heard we’re getting a new number 8 next week.”

There’s a moment of silence. Someone, to replace Jess? Well, eventually your team has, to move on, and moving on means getting a new number 8.

“Yeah,” Titus finally breaks the silence. “He better be a damn good one.”

“We can always kick him out if he’s not.”

“Yeah, no one can be as good as Jess.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

And you all do.

Life moves on.


	25. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**   
**(2 years later)**

There’s a loud screeching in your ear, sharp, piercing. You can almost hear your heart beating in your eardrums, every breath echoes in the chambers of your body. Your fingers tingle and yet they feel numb. There are thousands of thoughts in your mind, you can’t even begin to fathom half of them. Your chest heaves, adrenaline rushes through your veins. The beast in you is awake, alive, thriving. It’s snarling, you’re not sure if the heavy breathing is from it or you. There’s a sound in the background faint, distant. Your vision is blurry, you can’t focus.

Everything is moving slow and yet you see everything in supersonic speed. You see the blood dripping from the tip of the baseball bat with your fingers curled around the handle, and there are bits of… brains? Meat? You’re not sure.

Blood… baseball bat…. Oh god…

What have you done?

You feel something shake you violently and suddenly your whole world comes crashing down. Your eyes focus, your mind centers… your crime lays in front of you in all its beautiful grotesque glory. A pool of red is beneath your feet, your shoes are stained with them. Your knuckles are bruised, there are scratch marks on your arms, signs of a struggle… who was struggling?

“Glen! This is not the fuckin’ time for you to have one of your blackouts, man!”

The cloud lifts from your mind, when you look at Titus, you see his calm expression clearly, somehow he's calm despite the scene before him... Well, someone has to be. You don't feel anything. You feel detached. There’s no blood on him, you feel relieved. He was not part of what you had done.

What you had done…

You look down again, the body… the face is badly bashed in, you can’t recognize who it is. It’s just brains splattered across the floor, flesh, and bones, nothing more. You lower your gaze even further and beyond the mush of what once was a human head, you finally see a sign. The number 8.

“We need to get rid of the body. Clean this shit up. Come on.”

Burying the body is not hard, getting rid of the blood was the tough part.

You and Titus dispose of your bloodied clothes and you go on with your day like nothing happened. No one is going to ask, no one is going to wonder. There won’t be an investigation, there’s nothing for you to fear except the weight of your actions.

Your head is still light, the beer does little to help. You can’t even sense Titus looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

“You gonna talk?” He finally says.

Your gaze feels distant when you stare back at him. Only the smoke helps you clear your mind enough to think, to recall. The pieces start falling back into place.

"What happened?"

You remember.

* * *

"Rhinos, this is our new number 8."

"Name's Tim. You best remember it."

Cocky son of a bitch. He stands tall, wide confident smile like he expects you all to bow down to him.

You can tell from the way he looks that you two are not meant to share a bed. The bastard is gonna hog all the blanket. He's tall and lean, but well built. His features are deceivingly soft; long lashes, sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw. Every woman's wet dream. His hair is not long but it's not short either, curly bangs cover his forehead. His hair is messy and dark. His skin is not as tanned as your own but it's not as pale as someone who has never worked a day in their life under the sun, so you can tell he at least has some experience.

Not that it matters to you. He wants his place on the team? He has to fucking earn it.

"Play nice now," the coach says. "Especially you, Dixon."

The team hollars and laughs. "Fresh meat." They say mockingly, their hands all over you, clapping, patting.

You're gonna eat him alive and wipe that shit-eating grin off his face.

"Easy, Glen," Titus... your calm in the storm. "There will be a lot of bones to break in the leagues. But we need him for that. Can't compete without a number 8. We need a full team."

"I wasn't gonna do anythin', just wanna see how tough this son of a gun is, that's all." You say loudly, an indirect challenge. You know a cocky bastard like that won't say no. They thrive on attention.

"Tie your hair up, Barbie. We're here to play ball, not look like a bunch of cock sucking f*gs."

Uh-oh.

"The fuck did you say to me?"

A hand on your chest keeps you in place. "Ladies, ladies," Titus's voice booms in the locker room. "Settle down now."

You inhale sharply, letting the tension leave your shoulders as you stand up straight from your attack position. You didn't even notice you've taken an offensive stance. Keep your shit together, Glenny-boy.

Once sure that you're not going to leap on your new teammate and brother, Titus withdraws his hand and walks up to Tim, arm stretched forward. "Titus Hardie. Fly-half."

Tim smirks and shakes Titus's hand. "Part-time dog tamer too, I see."

"Basically."

Titus decides you and the team should have a few drinks after practice. Get to know Tim, make him feel welcomed and comfortable in his new team.

"I shouldn't have to tell you this, Tim. But the number 8 is a very important position. The team relies heavily on you to be both a good defender and attacker. We need you to be able to carry the ball."

"Titus, was it?" Tim sniffs, rubbing the side of his nose with his thumb. "I'm not new to this. I know what I gotta do. Just make sure you guys can keep up."

You cross your arms over your chest. "No one wants to see you stroke your own dick, asshole."

"You wanna come stroke it for me then, Blondie? You look like you're good at handling dick."

"Hey! Knock it off you two!"

The leader of the pack has spoken. The room falls silent.

Titus nods to himself, pleased by how you fall back in line at the sound of his mighty roar.

"Now let's get out there and you can show us what you got, Tim."

You get ready and put your uniforms on. The green grass of the field welcomes you. The team gets split into two. You look forward to showing the new number 8 what you're made of so he never runs his mouth ever again.

Fun fact, the number 8 is the only nameless position in this game. A number 8 is expected to be a great runner. Let's see how fast this rabbit can hop out of this stampede.

The game starts. You and your loosehead prop work together on defending your team. The big guys on the team are usually not a problem, you can plow through them easily, it's the little guys that you have to worry about most of the time.

Keep your team moving forward.

It's tempting to chase after the 8 and just pound him to the ground, sometimes you were lured away out of your position for a chance to do so too, playing right into his devilish little ugly hands.

"Dixon! The fuck are you doing?" The loosehead yelled.

Your ego is gonna cost you the game. Focus.

"Why are you doing this?" Titus asks during halftime

"What?"

"Pickin' a fight with the number 8? You barely know the guy."

"He's an asshole, T. I can just tell!"

"Really?" He crosses his arms over his chest. You nod. "Beat him by winning this game, Glen. That'll hurt him more."

Titus Hardie knows a thing or two about pride and being cocky. Titus is cocky. He's smug. He likes stroking his own ego and showing off. He's good and he knows it. Big dick energy. But Titus deserves to flaunt because he knows how and when to pick his fights. He's level headed. This other guy though? Bastard energy.

Anyway, the game goes on. You get back into the field and keep Titus's words in mind. You got your orders... stay in line. Focus.

* * *

"That was great! Nice work out there fellas. Time to hit the shower, then we can get out of here and have us some cold bottles of beer."

You can get behind that.

Quick shower then you get dressed and leave to the bar. It's a late night party as usual but you're one man louder today, and boy is he loud. Whistling at girls, drunkenly singing karaoke. It becomes a norm for the bar, it just has to deal with him. He rallies up the other boys, Titus has to keep everyone in line. The more comfortable this guy got with the team, the worst he got. By the second week, he was already brave enough to piss Titus off.

“Relax, I’m just having some fun, right boys? No harm done.” He says smugly, hands put up in fake defense.

The tension is pretty intense and it only grows worse with time. Titus tells you to be patient. Tim is a good number 8 but he’s a garbage human being with a huge ego and a small dick (you know ‘cause you’ve seen it.)

"Cig?" Speak of the devil.

"Sure." You accept the little goblin's lit cigarette and take a drag before blowing the smoke into the night sky. He lights another for himself and the two of you smoke in heavy silence as you watch your teammates in the not-so-far distance, chatting around the warm inviting fire.

You wonder why he chose to stand next to you and offer you a ciggy, perhaps he's had a change of heart and finally came down from cloud nine to your level. He doesn't say anything for a while, you're not opposed to his silence, but it makes you feel uneasy so you switch the weight of your body from one leg to the other and that seems to have prompted him to finally move his yapping mouth.

"So what's your deal, Dixon?"

You glare at him from the corner of your eyes. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

He waves his cigarette "exactly what I mean."

Your temper. Don't start a fight with him, it's probably what he wants. Focus on your smoke. Inhale.

"You're so feisty. Always wanna just punch someone, huh?"

You're gonna punch him if he doesn't shut up.

"So angry all the time. What? Mommy didn't love you enough?" He laughs, it feels like tar oozing out from in between his lips. "Or no mommy, huh?"

"Shut up." You finally bark at him. He's drawing your demons out, Glenny. Don't entertain him.

"So that's what it is then," he takes a long drag, pleased by the information he's just extracted from you unwillingly. "Probably a daddy that beat you up too, right? Poor little Glenny. Angry like his daddy. It's how it often goes, you know?"

"Why don't you fuck off before I beat the shit out of you."

"Struck a nerve I see."

There's a moment of peaceful silence where you thought you finally made it back to shore. You finish your cigarette and stomp the life out of it. No reason to stand here anymore, the others are getting ready to have dinner and they've just finished setting up the place.

Titus beckons you over. Always the savior that Titus is.

"Titus Hardie," you hear Tim say behind you. "That man sure is something isn't he?" You pause for a moment. You think he's implying something, something dangerous, you don't turn to look at the smirk on his face. No, it's just in your head. He's just trying to fuck with you.

You simply walk on.

Taking your seat next to your best friend, you grab a well needed beer and chug it down before having the chance to put food in your mouth. Your eyes fall on some skewers, used to stab meat so it can be cooked over the fire, perfect for murdering someone.

"Here," Titus hands you a skewer full of meaty cubes, some green pepper, a few tomatoes, and some onions. "Cut back on the onions though."

You like onion so that's a no can do. The meat is tender and juicy. You quickly forget your anger after a bite. Tim joins the rest of you, and the night dissolves into usual banters and chats under the calm night sky of Martinaise.

* * *

"You take care now, Kurt. You too, Elliot. I don't have to tell you to look after one another."

"Thanks, T. We'll write to you as soon as we get settled."

"That would be nice. Have a safe trip."

There's a pause as Kurt looks at you. You're not very good at goodbyes. "Bye Glen."

"Yeah..."

"Don't ignore my letters. If you do I'm gonna have to assume that Martinaise finally got you."

There's little left to say. Their bags are already packed and their ride is ready, the driver honks impatiently.

"Maybe we'll see each other again. Remember what I told you, alright? I wish you the best damn luck, Glen Dixon."

This might just be the last time you'll ever see him or hear from him again, and yet, you don't know what to say. The doors close, the bus leaves, it's suddenly very quiet.

"Chin up. You still got me and I ain't goin' nowhere."

You smile. He's right. You wrap an arm around Titus, he does the same to you. "So what are we bitchin' about today?"

"There's a lot to bitch about."

"That there is, buddy."

You get back into the heart of your district, passing by some elderly folks who look like they could fall dead at any given moment. They look sickly. It makes you feel guilty for being young.

You hear the wails of something in the distance, it almost sounds ghostly but you know it's not. You don't believe in ghosts, even the one that haunts you.

It doesn't take long for you to come across red in the snow. There's a little kid crying, innocence lost, pearly diamonds gone to waste as she cries over her brother's dead body.

There's not much you can do but offer to help bury the kid who was just collateral damage in a crossfire.

Memento Mori.

What a complete shift in mood. You hope Kurt and Elliot make it out alright.

"Seems like Tim has been givin' hell lately."

You snort. "Doesn't he always?"

"He says it's just his way of bein' friendly. Guess it means he really likes you."

You find that hard to believe. Human emotions are complex, you can't even begin to fathom your own but you know Tim fucking hates you. Good; you hate him too. Perhaps your rivalry has made you fond of each other, like Batman and Joker. You thrive in your hate for one another!

Sounds like bullshit to you, but what do you know?

"You talk to him?"

"I'm the team captain, Glenny. They talk to me, I talk to them." He has to. The team needs to feel like they can trust him and what says trust more than opening up to your leader?

"Somethin' just ain't right about him."

Titus taps his chin. "Maybe you got the hots for him."

You get visibly angry at that, you feel sick at the thought. "No. Of course not!"

The older man chuckles. "Relax. I was just kiddin'. I know it ain't that."

You sit down on the jetty when you arrive at the lake, Titus sits next to you. The smell of old wood flavored water fills your nostrils.

"I love Martinaise," obvious statement. "It's shitty and it's got some real nasty folks. But the other day I met a guy at work who said he had nowhere else to go and Martinaise felt like as good of a place as any. Now he got a job and a roof over his head, you know?" He rocks his legs back and forth. "It was the people that helped him, not the pigs."

You nod.

"We don't got much but at least we're a union."

Better together than apart. But there's no denying that not everyone feels that way. Titus is a dreamer, you can hear it in his voice... there are things he wants to do, great things. You look forward to being a part of it when the time comes.

"Anyway," he rubs his nose with the back of his gloved hand. "Sucks that Kurt and Elliot left. But they gotta chase their dreams, right?"

"Yeah."

"I don't imagine leaving Martinaise but if I did, I'm takin' you with me."

You grin. "For sure. I'll go wherever you go, T."

He smiles back, it's all charm and heart. You're swept off your feet in an instant. Oh, torturous love.

"If we grow old, Glenny, I'd sure be glad I've got you with me."

Even after everything... after all the shit he's put up with because of you, he says those words sincerely.

"You can bet on it!"

Peace. Despite the sounds of gunshots in the distance, you feel peace.

The monster in you slumbers.

* * *

"So, how long you and Titus been friends?"

You close your locker and try to ignore the man standing next to you but, of course, it's not that easy.

"You two seem pretty close.”

A blind man can see that. What else is new?

“I mean, really close. Just bros being bros, yeah?” God help you, you’re going to punch his face so hard it cracks his skull.

“Yeah. What about it?"

Tim shrugs. "Just curious. I mean, you're comfortable enough to be looking at each other's dicks so that must mean you're close."

You're not sure if that's a joke or not, regardless, it pisses you off. "Don't you got better fuckin' shit to do than be an asswipe, Tim?"

He shrugs. "What can I say? I get my kicks from poking the devil."

Funny, you think he's the devil. He's definitely not your father's level of evil, but he sure is up there.

"I'm not in the mood for your shit."

"Are you ever?"

"I mean it, Tim. Fuck off."

"I get it, you had trouble growing up. Titus comes along and saves you. Right? That's how the story goes?"

You curl your fist until your knuckles turn white. If you have to listen to one more word---

"Do you like hurting people?” He looks at your fist and seems amused. Your face must be burning red from anger. "Does it make you feel tough? 'Cause daddy never felt like you were tough enough, huh?"

In an instant, you drop your bag and slam the smaller man against the lockers. The back of his head hits the metal but he doesn't seem too concerned about that. "I said fuck off"

He smirks. "Or what? You're gonna punch me? That's what turns you on, isn't it?"

Tempting. But he's trying to make a fool out of you and it's working. You raise your fist, about to get some sweet satisfaction from beating this asshole into a bloody pulp, at least that was until---

"The fuck is going on here?" You hear your teammates question when they walk in on this very awkward scene.

"Nothing. Just messing around. Right, Glen?" Tim says casually.

You huff and then let him go, picking your bag up and walking out of the locker room.

You hear footsteps approaching rapidly behind you. "Hey."

Titus Hardie is not a violent man. He wouldn't approve of you taking care of this matter with your fists but you can't bring yourself to apologize for your outburst.

"I can't take this shit no more, T."

"Dude's only been here for a couple of months, Glenny."

Yeah and in those few months he dug out more corpses from your cemetery than you're willing to deal with.

"Listen, I'll talk to him, Alright? It's my responsibility to make sure y'all don't kill each other."

And have Tim think you cried bully? You're not a little bitch. Titus doesn't take you for one either. But he won't let you handle this your way.

"Whatever..."

Maybe you got this all wrong maybe Tim really is a friendly asshole who doesn’t know his boundaries. If this is his way of making friends, you don’t want it.

“Come on, we’ll go have something to eat. My treat.” Titus’s way of cheering you up includes smokes, beer, and food. What’s better than being with a friend that actually understands you?

“Enjoying the show?”

You blink rapidly as you notice the voice behind you. You weren’t even aware that you were staring at someone from the opposite team. He’s a short fella but broad with a shy beard that hasn’t fully grown yet on his chin, short dirty ash hair, even less saturated than your own, and square jaw. His eyes… they’re a beautiful martinaise grey. You don’t mind having a couple of drinks with him and then maybe taking him home. You would but recently the walls have eyes... And ears... And lots and lots of mouths.

“What are you looking at, Dixon?”

“Strategizing.” You lie, Tim finds it hilarious.

“Really? You? Strategizing? Your only strategy is going in there and breaking some bones.”

“Well, I’m tryin’ somethin’ new.” You make yourself busy by chugging down a bottle of cold water, sadly your interest in quenching your thirst (and I’m not only talking about the water bottle here) doesn’t make the number 8 fuck off.

“Are you gay?”

You become paralyzed with fear upon hearing those words, all your senses are on red alert. You become ready to attack in an instant.

“What the fuck?” You snap at the smaller man, it does little to frighten him.

“It’s a simple yes or no question, Glen.”

You’re gonna answer it with your fists.

“Fuck no, I ain’t no queer. Now fuck off.”

“Just that sometimes I find you looking, like now.”

You lean down and press your face to Tim’s, eyes ablaze with rage, teeth like sharp fangs ready to rip him apart.”I told you I ain’t no fuckin’ queer, fucko. So fuckin’ scram!” He doesn’t say anything after that. It becomes an awkward stare down and frankly, you’re getting sick of looking at him.

“Glen!” You’re thankful to hear that voice. “The hell are you doin’, man? Come on, need you on the field right now. Tim, get into position, this ain’t no time to be chatting.”

Titus Hardie, ender of wars. A god among men.

He puts his hands on your shoulders, it’s hard to look at him because you’re reminded now that people stare, they look and they judge. People like Tim can end you. “Hey, I need you to focus, alright? We can’t lose this game.”

You nod, “yeah, okay. I’m focused.”

“You sure as fuck don’t look focused.”

Rugby is a team game, a real team game. Every member is important. You all fall like dominos if one of you fails to do their job. The team needs you to protect them. You take a deep breath and try to forget about Tim now. Such a shame that he’s part of this team and not thinking about him is difficult when he’s right there. Regardless, Titus is right, you need to focus.

“You got this, man.” He pats you and then gives your shoulders a comforting squeeze. Damn it! He always knows how to make you crack a smile even when you don’t want to.

“Yeah. I got this!”

The game starts and ends in tragedy. You've fought your best fight, and yet, it simply wasn't enough. You return home with your tails between your legs.

* * *

The lighter clicks as it gives birth to the flames that light your cigarette. You stand before your own reflection, bare, with your scars on your sleeves. The smoke clouds your vision of the men behind you, aggressively expressing their frustration at their defeat. You allow yourself a glance at their sweat stained bodies, just a second to admire their figures before you stare back ahead. You can't help yourself. You know you shouldn't, considering the circumstances... but you're weak to your desires.

You exhale, smoke leaves your snarling nose like fire. On your shoulder you notice a dark mark, your eyes fixate on it for a while and then everything fades. The voices behind you become a blur. The grey-ish blue colors of the locker room turn into an ugly moldy green. You're somewhere you never want to return to.

The smell of smoke becomes suffocating all of a sudden, and you're sure it's not because of your cigarette. Yours is gone.

Instead, You're trapped in the mirror where you watch helplessly as your younger self tries to defend himself against your monster of a father. The feeling of ash against your skin feels too real, you remember every bit of it, and then there's the painful sting and the hiss of fire as it dies against your flesh leaving behind a nasty burn mark for you to carry with you for the rest of your life.

You try not to scream but it doesn't let you go until it has broken you. It's angry when you're weak and dissatisfied when you try to be strong. There was nothing you can do at the time. Even now, you're still not free of your father.

“I think I’m starting to get you now, Glen Dixon.”

Oh great, just what you need right now. Your team is defeated, you’re all frustrated and tired, and this fucker shows up. (Of course, he does, he's part of the team.)

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

He leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, a distant look on his face, as though he’s thinking of something. Bad sign. “You and Titus, you’re a thing, right? Probably have been for a long time. Is that what made daddy mad? Explains why you’re always so defensive.” He rubs his chin. Your eyes widen in anger, fingers already curling into a fist. He’s right and you know it. He’s right and it makes you furious.

“Are you a fuckin’ idiot? There ain’t nothin’ between me and Titus. He’s my friend.”

“They don’t like queers in Revachol.” He goes on regardless of what you have to say. He’s already convinced that he knows everything about you. You've given him all the information he needs without saying a thing.

You need a new strategy.

"The others don't know, do they?"

He wouldn't tell them... right? Even if, let's say, this wasn't true, a rumor like that is enough to end your entire career. You'll never play for another team again, and Titus too.

"I don't know where you're gettin' all this shit from but you better knock it off before I knock your teeth in."

He laughs, it doesn't sound like he's laughing at you.

"Anyway," He shrugs so casually that it bewilders you. "You take care, alright? Personally, I think I'm just going to go home, make love to my lady, and sleep. You know? Best thing you can do after a rough night like this. Maybe you should do the same, or... whatever it is what you do." He throws his bag over his shoulder and then just walks out... just like that. Like he didn't just hint that he wants to end your career. And for what?

Why is he doing this?  
Why you?

You're frozen in place, the lack of his presence gives you some comfort.

Better pack and get out of here.

"You sure you wanna go home you don't wanna go dance? Drink? And maybe get a little horny?"

"Not tonight."

Titus frowns. Staying home doesn't sound like his way of spending the night, and usually, it wouldn't be yours either but you need some time to think. Actually, you feel like you want to disappear right now.

"You can go," you shrug. As if he needs your permission to go out and have fun. "If you want to. I'm probably just gonna go sleep."

"It's alright. We can have a couple of drinks at your place and then call it a night."

You hate thinking that he feels bad for you. But today has been rough on everyone. It's better spent in some feminine company but alas, your dong does not ding for the ladies.

You've met a few interesting women during your "I'm not gay I just haven't found the right woman yet" phase. You realized a lot of them love listening as much as they love talking. Your father would disagree with your views. He always treated the women he brought home as toys to fuck and beat until he was bored of playing with them, just like how he would do with you.

There were a few women that you even thought you could be friends with. Actually, sometimes being in the company of women is a lot easier than being with your teammates.

You don't think about women enough, I mean like really think about them, not the fake thinking you do when you're with the boys, not their ass and titts, but women as magnificent complicated creatures beyond your comprehension. You remember being a kid and having your cheeks pinched by some random old ladies on the street; you think about the woman who makes pastries and Auntie Luplante who looked after you when you were young.

Women are pretty cool, you decide. Maybe you should pick women up, skip the fucking, and just make friends with them. That's a funny idea.

... You wonder what kind of woman your mom was.

"Hey," Titus snaps his fingers in front of your face. "Where the fuck do you go when you space out like that? I've been talkin' to myself for the past ten minutes."

Wouldn't it be hilarious if you told him you were thinking about women?

"Sorry." Click, the key turns in your hand as you unlock the front door to your home then step aside to let Titus inside.

"You alright? Tim isn't givin' you trouble again is he?"

You roll your eyes as you close the door behind you and turn on the lights. "He was just bein' a piece of shit as usual."

Maybe you should tell Titus what went down today...

No. You can't... enough whining to him.

But this could impact both of you. You're in a dangerous situation, or in better terms, you're on thin ice.

"Tch, he's probably gettin' a kick out of fuckin' with you. Don't amuse him, he'll get bored eventually."

You've tried so hard but he knows how to push your buttons. This is hopeless. You can't just pretend he doesn't exist, and he won't make it easy for you either.

"Don't know why I can't just beat the fuck out of him."

"I would let you, trust me, but sadly we need him."

"Can't we find another number 8?"

"We can. But the problem isn't findin' one, it's findin' one that can play better than good. We don't want a repeat of today. We're slippin', Glenny. We have to pull our shit together."

You sigh. God damn it. There's nothing for you to do but rub your hands together in anguish. The world must really hate you, it wants to ensure you stay miserable. It's only your twenty-fourth round after all. Too early to tap out. Besides, do you really want to lose the fight over this?

You've not yet delivered the knockout punch.

* * *

You sit on the bench with a towel around your shoulders, wiping the sweat from your face before reaching inside a small cooler to grab a cold bottle of water. Behind you, there are grunts of hardworking men pushing down the earth with the strength of their arms. Titus counts.

You watch silently as the sweat drips down their faces and onto the grass dirt beneath, you fixate on the twitch of their muscles and their veins. What a sight to behold.

"It's pretty hot, right?"

You blink and sigh inwardly. Just ignore him. Ignore him. He'll go away.

"The weather, I mean," Tim adds with a chuckle. "or maybe you find some sweaty dudes hot."

Don't acknowledge him.

"Did you sleep with any of them? Aside from Titus of course. Or is he your one true love?"

...

"It's weird, you know? I never took Titus for a queer. It's believable when it comes to you, but Titus Hardie? He seemed like such a lady's man. You know? Get the ladies swooning. But no. For some reason he picks you."

Your spit becomes like lava in your throat. Your fingers are itching to knock this fucker out. You can stand him talking shit about you but not Titus.

"So, what's he like in bed? Louder than he is on the field?" You bite down on your lower lip till your teeth pierce the skin. "Is he the woman or are you? Would be shocked if it's him. Then again, he's full of surprises, isn't he?"

Something in you snaps at those words, years of trauma rush back and turn into merciless anger. You close the water bottle and grab it by the handle in the blink of an eye, swinging it at Tim so hard it knocks him down. You don't stop. You pin him down and keep hammering down at him until his face is covered in red. It's so satisfying.

"Glen, stop!!" You feel a pair of strong arms pull you off the smaller man beneath you. "That's enough! Go home, now!" Titus demands.

"I was just asking him how it feels like to be Hardie's bitch, that's all."

That's all that it takes for you to lung back at Tim and deliver a few more punches before your team separates the two of you again. "I said home. NOW, GLEN!" He's not asking nicely anymore.

You heave, spitting as you breathe from frustration but you listen to Titus, grabbing your bag, and leaving.

When you return home, you take your anger out on every object you can find, you take your anger out on yourself. You haven't felt the need to bite yourself in a long time but here you are, arm stretched, teeth sunk deep in your skin. The pain takes over the anger, your torment is good enough to calm your demons.

Your shack is a wreck. Pieces of shattered glass lie on the floor, there's a small broken table that you demolished, using whatever you could to break it. Your couch has been knocked over, the radio is left broken into bits after you threw it against the wall.

All of them sacrifices just to bring you down.

"I tried, T. I tried to ignore him."

Titus stands by the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression is that of a disappointed parent. It breaks you easily and you lower your head in shame.

"I'm sorry."

"You fuckin' should be."

He knows it's not your fault but he doesn't sympathize with you. He doesn't want this to happen again.

"You're goin' to get kicked out of the team if this happens again. You know I don't want that to happen."

Oh... fuck.

You sigh. "It won't happen again."

"Yeah." His expression softens and he finally comes in, closing the door behind him. He kneels beside you, a soft smile on his face. "You don't gotta prove shit to him, alright?" Your masculinity, he means. You don't have to prove you're a man to anyone. It's hard for you. You feel the need to because you don't want people to decide who you are. You don't even know what and who you are sometimes so what gives people the right to dictate that for you?

Titus pats your shoulders. You feel your anger slipping.

"He knows, T."

"Knows what?"

"About us," Whatever it is that's between you two. "About me."

The older man arches a brow. He seems to understand the situation better now. "Alright. I see now."

"He can fuckin' end me, Titus. What am I supposed to do?" You're scared, you hate to admit it but you feel weak and helpless.

Titus thinks for a while. To tell you the truth, he has no idea what the next step here is. You're fucked. "We'll figure somethin' out. But don't worry yourself about it." How can you not? He could be on his way to tell the coach and the rest of the team as you speak. Not a second is safe with this fucker around.

How will you ever find sleep again?

"Hey, come on. Don't make me have to kiss you now."

You stare at the other man in a mixture of disbelief and shock. The tips of your ears turn red under your hair. "Knock it off, this ain't the fuckin' time for your jokes!"

He grins and pulls you towards him. You push back and he makes silly kissy faces that make you laugh even when you don't feel like laughing.

"Stop it!"

"Fine, fine." He chuckles and finally sits next to you on the ground. The wood creaks beneath his weight.

Peace fills the place where anxiety once was. You're still scared but you feel better now at least.

"We'll be alright, Glenny."

You smile. "Yeah."

He turns towards you and suddenly his lips are on yours. Your body freezes and then melts. How sweet and heavenly he tastes. When your lips part, there's nothing else that needs to be said.

* * *

"Didn't expect a f*g like you to pack quite the punch."

There's more where that came from if he doesn't shut his trap. Remember, you promised Titus you won't get into any more trouble.

"Funny you would even show your face after what you did. Broke my fucking nose."

That brings you some satisfaction. You almost laugh.

"What's stopping me from telling the others your secret, huh? I should after what you did."

Uh-oh.

"I warned you plenty of times to fuck off. You didn't. Seems like I didn't beat you hard enough, should knock all your fuckin' teeth out so you stop talkin'."

"Yeah, 'cause that's what gets your rocks off you sick fucking queer. All you f*ggots are shit. "

Let him run his throat dry.

"You should fuck off and go suck a dick, isn't that what you do?"

Funny how he's telling you to fuck off when you want him to fuck off, all you've ever wanted was for him to fuck off.

"You fucking queers disgust me. There's no place for the likes of you on a team like this. I'm sure everyone would agree if they knew..." He pauses then corrects himself. "when they know." There he goes blackmailing you again.

"Listen, you just gonna keep talkin'? I got better shit to do than listen to you run your dumb fuckin' mouth."

And then Tim does the unexpected. He attacks you. This little piece of shit attacks you.

You fight because now you have a good reason to.

"F*ggot! Glen Dixon is a F*ggot." He yells. You punch him square in the face to silence him and press his face against the cold tiles of the dirty floor. You can hear the sound from his skull as it hits the ground, it's satisfying. He deserves this. "Fuck you, you gay piece of shit." You hit his head against the tiles again.

"Shut the fuck up," The sound of your voice is almost alien to you. When you're angry, when you're truly angry, it becomes dark, twisted, strange. But he's too proud to listen to you.

You yank on the eight's arm and pull it behind his back. "Shut up!" It's a threat this time. "or I'll rip your fuckin' arm off."

"You're a dick sucking queer, Glen Dixon. I bet that's how you made it into the team, huh? You fucked Hardie's little pussy." He sounds like your father, he says the same things, the same awful things. You just want him to shut up. Just shut up. Stop. Shut up!

You shove your fist in his mouth before he has the chance to yell out any more shit, he tries to bite you, of course. You know your team could walk in any minute and this looks bad. You're going to lose your place on the team either way so fuck it. You pull on Tim's arm until you hear the pop from his shoulder. He screams and bites down on your fist. You don't give a fuck.

There's no going back now. You let him go, he's going to tell on you.

You try not to think about Titus, how disappointed he'll be in you, but this must be done. If there's even the slimmest chance that you could walk out of this, you'll take it.

Tim has to go. He has to disappear.

The moment you get up and take your fist out of his mouth, he starts yelling again, yelling for the world to know your dark dirty secret. So you grab the baseball bat, and you make him quiet once and for all. You don't stop, it's hard to control yourself after the first blow. Even when he's finally quiet, you can't stop. Not until Titus walks in on the gruesome bloodbath. You don't even notice him standing there, all you care about is the blood, the cracking of bones, the demolition of vital organs.

You're strong. He's nothing! You win. You win. You win!  
...

You've killed again and you feel no remorse.

You dump the body at the bottom of the lake. He'll never bother you ever again. No one is going to give a fuck.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Glen..."

It was the only way. Titus must see that, right?

It was going to boil to this point eventually...

The older man sighs. "He was an asshole anyway but fuckin' damn it. Now we need another number 8"

His first concern is the team. Interesting.

"Anyway, clean up. We have to head back soon."

You take a long look at the lake. Just another one of your dirty secrets buried at the bottom of the bottomless pit. You see your reflection in the water...

A monster. You become more and more like him as you grow. You see him in others, you see him in yourself. He won't let you go.

His violence is now yours to carry. It's only a matter of time before you surrender yourself to the violent beast.

Who will you hurt next? How much are you willing to sacrifice to keep your secret safe? Are you even human anymore?

What are you?


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of the new year! Welcome 2021! Thanks to anyone who stuck around for this long. We're now entering what I like to call "The Hardie Years", the last era in this fic. Its been a long year and a long journey. But we are not at the final stop yet.

**Chapter 24**

That was a close call. Too close for comfort. You can't let this happen again. You don't give a fuck if some asshole wanted to take you down... but not Titus. You'll never drag him down with you. You'll never forgive yourself if you ruined his life, or worse, got him killed. After all the shit he's given up for you, all the shit he's done. You're not going to let your feelings, of all things, fuck him over. 

If you could just run... Cut yourself out of his life, it would have been so much easier. 

Sometimes you wonder what it would have been if you never came back to the lake. 

It would have been better, wouldn't it? He wouldn't have to deal with this fucking shit. With your waves of emotions pulling him back and pushing him forth. You'll drown him.

It's not too late for him to swim back to shore. 

"We have to stop."

"What?"

You lower your gaze and cross your arms over your chest. Your physical strength does not prepare you for this sort of pain. "Whatever that's going on between us... it's gotta stop."

There's a wave of different emotions on Titus's face; anger, confusion, hurt... he wants to understand but the sadness makes it hard. "Again with this shit, Glen? Really?"

He's right. You always come back to one another. You were happy with him, even though you were still confused about what the fuck was going on between you. To think that you'll never taste his lips again... 

But it's a sacrifice you're willing to make if it means the best for Titus. 

As if it's your right to dictate what's best for him... What makes you think know what's best? 

Your hair hangs over your shoulders, swaying gently back and forth over your face. You don't care enough to push it back. The silence drags on for a while. You're not sure what to say next. 

Fuck emotions. Fuck dealing with them. Fuck love. Fuck everything!

He wants you to say something. Anything. Just give him a reason that's good enough for him to suffer for. Make it worth it.

"What the hell are we gonna do anyway? Huh?" You finally say. It leaves your mouth with more anger than you anticipated. "Years down the line. What are we gonna do? Keep hidin'? What? Are we gonna get married? Have kids? We can't fuckin' do that. You really wanna throw your life away over this shit?" 

It's true, now that you think about it. What are you gonna do? You want to spend the rest of your life with Titus, yes. But... You can't. Not this way. You know it and so should he. 

"It's so fuckin' stupid, T. Alright? It's just fuckin' dumb and it's pointless."

You feel like you're a child again, fighting back tears. This is a curse. You know it must be. It's your punishment for being this ugly thing. You're not made for happiness. This is something you haven't thought of for a long time but... You're certain of it now. 

Titus stands up and walks towards you. He doesn't use words, he speaks to you the only way you'll understand.... his fist. 

You stumble back from the force of his hit, you can already taste the blood on your tongue. 

You deserve it. 

"Every time I fuckin' try with you--" he inhales sharply, the anger fades from his face. He collects himself. "Every time I think---" it takes a lot to make Titus Hardie speechless but you did and it's not in a good way. He really wants to be mad but he's holding himself back. He sighs. It's all he can do. "Whatever." It's always going to be something with you; It's always your father, your career, people. You'll always find an excuse. That's what all of this is to him, just excuses.

Do you know what he's thinking? It would absolutely break your heart if you did.

You want the best for him and he wants the best for you but the two of you have totally different views on what "the best" is. At the end of the day, neither of you know what the best is, no one does. 

...

It's my fault, you think, as though I were a god or a higher being.

I'm sorry you feel that way but I'm simply a narrator. I tell the story as it happens. All that has happened, all that is happening and will happen, it's already written. Even I'm just a pawn in someone else's hand. It's all just a sick and twisted game of fate. 

You want me to tell you what happens next but that would interrupt the flow of things. 

Fate is such a grand thing. It's bigger than you and me. If it makes you feel any better, there are different endings to your story. Some depend on you, some depend on him. You see, it's your choices that create your fate, and with every choice you make, you bring to life thousands of other universes where you would have made a different choice. There's a Glen out there who is doing worse. There's a Glen out there that has already died. There's a Glen out there who chose not to come back to the lake and thus never became friends with Titus. 

Do you see how big this is?

I wish things could have been different for you here but this is the hand you were dealt and these are the choices you made.

All you can do now is live... Memento Mori.

"Anyway. Fuck this shit. We should get ready for work and then practice after that. I'm sure coach will have a lot to say once he knows that Tim is gone."

* * *

  
You return to your old life... lonely among the company of people, depressed but pushing through, letting your hate and anger fester. Yearning for things you can't have. 

You put your mask on before you leave every morning and it suffocates you until night. If you're lucky you'll find some guy to take back home for the night. You'll kick them out the next day and you'll never see them again. 

It's easier just to fuck. No strings attached. You don't have to worry about ruining these men's lives, all you care about is what you do to them at the moment. Turns out it's pretty satisfying to fuck men, not only because of sexual pleasure, obviously, but the thought of dominating other males... It really turns you on. You're the strong one, they are beneath you. 

It's hard not to think about Titus sometimes while you fuck them. You wish it were him so you don't have to press their faces against the pillows. You don't want to remember their faces.

But the fact that they're not him drives you nuts. They're missing the scars on his body, his broad shoulders, and lean hips. Their smiles aren't the same, and their eyes don't have the same charm. They're not him. You don't want to see their faces. 

Your sickness grows worse with time. You feel the beast grow more and more dissatisfied. You no longer get your fix from the drugs and the booze, nor the men you fuck roughly on your creaking bed. You remember then the magazine you saw as a kid, of the woman tying men up and beating them with a whip. You remember Kurt and how good it felt to hurt him while you fucked. You remember how you felt when you killed your old man, and how it felt to finally silence Tim. You remember your fights with Titus, your weight on him, his weight on you. The bloodied and bruised smile on his face... the feeling of your fist against his strong jaw. It feels good...

You realize then... You're just like your daddy. 

Evil little thing, it's not just a sexual pleasure, is it? A part of you likes hurting others, even killing. Oh, look at you, so big and strong, huh?

The thought wakes you up in the middle of the night with a horrified scream that echoes through the shack and out into the thickness of trees, where it eventually dies with the wind that fails to carry it to any listening ears. 

You're drenched in sweat. When you look down at your hands, they shake uncontrollably.

The wind howls outside, sending haunting whistles into the darkness of the night. The rain pitter-patters on the roof of your shack and despite the noise, you can't drown out the demons in your head. There's only one thing to do in this case--- actually, there are several things you can do right now; drink yourself into a coma, take drugs, risk overdosing on sleeping pills, you know... dangerous things. But there's one non-lethal thing you can do so you put on your coat and make a run for the lighthouse in the storm, metaphorically speaking of course. That lighthouse is Titus's place.

You knock on the door violently. You're not sure if you're shaking from the cold or fear. Regardless, the shivers make you knock again and again impatiently until a barely clothed Titus answers the door. No time to stare.

"You know what fuckin' time it is? The fuck you doin' out here in the middle of a storm?" He doesn't sound angry. Your throat fails to let the words out, but your face muscles speak volumes. He understands and silently steps aside to let you in.

Your hair is dripping, your clothes hug your body tightly, It's unbelievably cold. Even the snow doesn't hurt this much. You almost feel guilty for soaking his couch when you sit down. He takes a seat on the sofa on the opposite side. He doesn't say anything but he watches you intently, studying you in the dark. His gaze feels heavy, it makes you feel vulnerable.

Nothing is said, nothing needs to be said.

It's so cold.

You wrap your arms around yourself, a lonely hug of one. It doesn't bring you any warmth.

There's a tightness in your chest, the weight of everything coming crashing down all at once. You're stronger than this, you know you are. You can't break under the weight...

So why are you crying?

Your teeth dig into your lower lip and cut through the skin. You wonder if your tears will blend in with droplets of water falling from your hair.

Fucking weak. Look at you...

Your self loathing does nothing but make the tears fall faster.

Titus kneels down in front of you to get a better look at your face. You look away. You don't want him to see you like this but you dragged yourself here so deal with it.

That doesn't stop him though. He places his hands on each side of your cheeks, they're soft against your skin. He uses his thumb to brush the tears away, unbothered by how disheveled you look... and that was the final straw.

You weep as if you were a child. You haven't cried in so long. You remember yourself as a kid when you would cry around Titus and bite him if he asked why you were crying. As far as you were concerned, you weren't crying, even as the tears fell like waterfalls,

"It's alright to cry," He said.  
"I'm not cryin', okay?!" You told him even though the tears were visibly falling from your eyes.   
He nodded. "I know. I just want you to know that it's alright."

His arms engulf you and you latch onto him. You're not sure if the water on his clothes is from your tears or the rainwater. It's most likely both. You'll hate yourself tomorrow, more than you already do. You'll hate yourself for this for as long as you live. But for tonight you let yourself cry until you're tired.

It feels good to cry, but as you wipe your snot-filled nose with one hand and rub your wet pretty-boy eyelashes with the other, you can't help but feel like your father is about to barge through the door and beat you unconscious for crying, and not just that, but showing weakness in front of someone, especially another man.

"It's alright," you hear Titus say. You can almost picture his smile in the softness of his words. "It's okay, Glenny. It's about time you let it out." A thing you should have done the past few years. Maybe then you wouldn't resort to hurting others just to feel something. He pats you on the back and then rubs soothing circles that help you calm down. Soon enough, you've shed all the tears you could allow yourself to cry and you're left just inhaling and gasping in his arms.

"Fuck..." That's the first word that leaves your mouth after your long silence... 'fuck'. Yeah, seems appropriate.

He pulls back and takes a look at you. No doubt you look like shit, more so than usual. He's not judging you, he doesn't think any less of you, in fact, his merciful hands are pushing your hair behind your ears, his smile never leaves his lips. He's strong for the both of you. 

You really want to kiss him right now, that's how shitty you feel. But you can't. You broke things off. You can't come crawling back now. No take backs.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Yeah."

He doesn't bring you a bottle of beer, instead, it's a glass of orange juice. When you're depressed, Titus always makes sure you don't end up trying to drink it away. It's the smart thing to do. You don't think that. You think beer helps numb the pain... but then again you're not really smart, are you?

He wants to ask you if you want to talk about it, but he thinks he already knows the answer.

You stare down at your drink for a while before having a sip. "I'm sorry."

He shrugs, "who needs sleep anyway."

That gets a smile out of you.

"Bad dream?"

"Bad reality."

"Dramatic."

The smile fades from your face and you stare back into the orange juice. You're not sure how to tell Titus what you've experienced, what you're thinking...

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

You've already cried to him. Why not tell him?

"I... thought about my old man."

"Ah," you don't need to say more. He understands. "haven't in a while, huh?"

You always think about him. He won't leave you alone. "Yeah."

"That bastard can't hurt you no more. Glen. You made sure of that."

He can't hurt you physically...

"What he did to you was fucked," he still holds a grudge but there's no use holding grudges against ghosts. "But he's burnin' in hell right now. He's gettin' what he deserves."

What he's done to you will never leave you. There's no amount of pain he could suffer that would put you at ease because you're not the one inflicting it upon him. What use is revenge if someone else is doing it for you?

What he's made you... You can never undo it.

"I know you said I'm not like him, T, but... I am."

There are a few different emotions shifting through his expression ever so slightly; he's confused, he's in disbelief, he's angry and yet he wants to laugh. You're making him nuts, not in a good way. 

"I don't understand, Glenny."

You can't understand either. It's so complicated and yet so simple. 

"Is this about Tim? Yeah, what you did was fucked up. But you were scared. And he was a douchebag. We'll find another number 8 to fill in."

How can he say that so casually? He sounds so indifferent that you wonder if you're supposed to be scared of yourself or of him.

"You're not mad?"

He tilts his head, looking as confused as a puppy "Why would I be mad?"

You killed a man and he doesn't even care. You bashed his head in until there was no head left and this man is just here... casually saying you'll replace him.

You always thought of Titus Hardie as this perfect specimen. But you can't help but feel some kind of way about his response to this. Then again, this is Martinaise. You've both seen so much shit that you've become desensitized to the brutal nature of it all. You would be more shocked to see kindness than violence.

Anyway, this isn't about that.

"I don't want you to go around bashin' people's head in whenever they look at you funny," He goes on. "I've always known you were messed up, and you know that I know. But ain't we all a little coo-coo?" He doesn't even know how perfect you think he is. When he takes your hands in his, you flinch. His fingers dance with yours until the gaps in between are filled. He presses his thumb against the palm of your hand. Your deadliest weapon...

"Told you this before and I'll tell you again 'cause I know you got a fuckin' thick skull. You ain't nothin' like your old man. You just..." He shrugs, "Gotta learn to use your fists for better reasons, and I don't mean beatin' off." his laugh puts you at ease, your shoulders relax, you didn't even know you were tensed up.

"Asshole."

"But you love me anyway." His smile is confident and yet you feel like he's oblivious to just how right he is.

For a while, the two of you sit in the dark, engulfed by silence. His hand is warm against your cold skin. It's comforting. "Why can't it always just be this easy?"

Titus makes a face, it's almost a pouting face, for a moment he's deep in thought and then says, "because it ain't fun to win the fight if your opponent just drops down and lets you win."

You chuckle. "How do you do it, T?"

He matches your smile "Do what?"

Be so perfect, know exactly what to say, be so charming. All of that. Fucking cheesy, you don't want to say that!

You laugh again, it's a little more awkward. "Nothin'."

He doesn't push, he probably already knows. "Well, it's still stormin' out so no way I'm lettin' you get out there like this. Why don't you stay the night?"

You nod.

Tonight was a good reminder that you may be a bad person, Glen Dixon, but you have someone to keep you from being the monster you're afraid of becoming. Try not to forget that.

* * *

"Tim is still a no-show. Great."

"I went by his place and almost broke the door down. He's not there."

"So what? He just took a bus out of town? Left?"

"Maybe. He never liked Martinaise."

You lean against your locker with your leg against the steel and your arms crossed over your chest, listening to your team bicker about a ghost at the bottom of the lake. "Good riddance." You finally say. They all turn to you. "He was a cunt."

"Yep." Titus agrees as he closes his locker and turns his attention to the team.

"Is this sort of some fucking curse? We gonna start losing all our number 8s?"

A few of the team members laugh while the others imitate what humans think ghosts sound like.

"We gonna get a bad rep for this. Everyone is gonna think bad shit happens to our number 8s. No one is gonna wanna fill the spot."

"Bad shit does happen to our number 8s, bad shit happens to everyone around here, it's Martinaise."

"Boys, boys, settle down," Titus says in his usual charismatic voice. It grabs everyone's attention. "We'll find another number 8. Don't worry. Just don't go spreadin' rumors about ghosts and curses and shit."

"We won't but you know the magazines, they love to talk."

"Everybody loves to talk."

"Besides, we need a number 8 soon, real soon."

"Relax. We'll find one."

You know your secret is safe. No one really seems bothered to look for Tim, no one really cares. Numbers are replaceable after all, and Tim isn't Jess. He's nothing like him. So why would anyone care? Getting away with murder again. You might just become a serial killer. It's not what you want but apparently, you're good at it. Or... no one really gives a fuck in Martinaise. People die every day. Big whoop. Move along now. You got practice.

Just pray that the next number 8 won't be as bad as the previous one, and remember... mask on. You don't want anyone else finding out who and what you are, it would be a shame if you had to get rid of someone else.

The door to the locker room opens, a man with a clipboard walks in. He takes a look at the team then sighs. "Ah fuck."

Titus walks up to the man, wrapping a friendly arm around his shoulder. "Hey, coach. I know this seems bad, Tim not showin' up and all, us bein' close to the tournament. But I'm sure we'll figure somethin' out. We could just hire a sub to fill in till we find someone, huh."

The man pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again. "The asshole probably got drunk and fell somewhere. Whatever. You're right. We have to stay focused."

"Exactly."

"Just get your asses out there and do your best, Rhinos."With that, the man leaves and the team follows. Titus shoots you a smile and pulls the trigger on his finger guns. They say that the finger guns are an ancient symbol of bisexuality, it is deeply rooted in bisexual culture, though not a flirty gesture, not in this context at least, it is a gesture that has been claimed by the bisexual people, and now you see it in action. Not that he hasn't shot you with those bisexual bullets before but I just thought it would be fun to let you in on this knowledge now.

It seems like a good workout is all you needed. Might have to do with the fact that you're body slamming some dudes too, but it's most likely just the workout. All the bad energy is leaving your body. You are now at peace again.

You need a punching bag to hang back in your place, beat the fuck out of it when you're feeling pissed. Maybe Titus still has his old boxing gear. Actually, the two of you haven't spared in a while. You wonder if Titus misses his career as a prizefighter. He was a damn good one. 

No time to ruminate. You got asses to kick. 

It's a long day that's made easier by the wind's gentle breeze. The field is still wet and muddy from the storm last night but it doesn't stop you. By the time practice is done, your hair has turned from ash to brown. You need a long shower to get all this mud off. 

You take your time, not caring about how much hot water you hog up. As usual, the locker room is full of friends laughing and talking. Do these guys ever feel sad? Do they ever feel like you? I don't think there's someone out there who hasn't had a taste of sadness. But do they ever feel... depressed? 

As men, you're not taught to talk about your feelings. You're expected to swallow them up and power through it. That mentality in itself is depressing. It creates monsters. 

Again, you're lucky to have Titus. Even though you prefer death over weakness, at least you know he won't judge you. 

Who do they have?  
Do they ever cry?

Have you ever thought about that? You never did. Concerning yourself with other people's emotions when you can barely fathom your own is too much for you. 

You close the water and dry off. You're just about to grab your shit and leave when the doors slam open and one of your teammates comes in, laughing like he's just heard the funniest joke. 

"Fellas! Look at this shit!" He says as he holds up a magazine. The words are an ancient text to you. You cannot read them. 

The commotion grabs everyone's attention. They flock around the man with the magazine and try to take a peek. They're all as confused as you are. 

From what you can tell, there's a photo of your team on the page that's opened. You all look like you have no clue what's going on, which is most likely the case as you don't remember anyone approaching your team for a photo. 

"What's all this about?" Titus says, having just left the shower, standing there with nothing but a towel on... don't stare. Your teammate hands him the magazine and he's silent for a while, reading through the text.

"Well?" 

"Just a review on our last few matches. Seems we impressed some folks. But they really should ask for a photo next time. Not that I don't look good, just that you fellas could look better."

"Speak for yourself, I look great! Look at my biceps."

Laughter fills the room then Titus continues. "Says here people are startin' to fear our prop here," He gives you a proud smile. "Callin' him the one man stampede."

"Fitting."

You can't help but show off a bit. It's only expected that a man of your strength finally gets some recognition for your macho manly strength, or so you prefer people to know that side of you. 

Titus hands you the magazine even though you can't understand the text but knowing what it says gives the paper new weight. You look at the photo again, Titus has an arm wrapped around you, he looks like he was in the middle of saying something or laughing. Regardless, you're listening with great care, as you always do when he talks. You look at ease. The two of you look happy... like your childhood photos. 

You suddenly feel nostalgic. You don't miss the days of being afraid of going home, but you miss everything about yourself before your emotions got too complicated. You miss being happy... do you even know what it feels like to genuinely be happy?

Sometimes you do. Sometimes you are happy, even if for a few moments. You were happy when you became friends with Titus. You were happy when you started playing rugby, you were happy when your best friend kissed you for the first time.

It feels like everything is so far away from you now. 

But such is life, my friend. If we, as creatures on this earth, are temporary, then how can our emotions not be? Everything dies and is reborn, including sadness and happiness... and even love. 

What I'm saying has little meaning to you, but I just want you to know it regardless. 

Life is fascinating, isn't it? Perhaps this is what God enjoys. Not the torturing of his creations, but seeing them overcome whatever he throws at them. 

"Always so inseparable you and Titus, huh?" 

There's laughter in the room once more. All your thoughts come crashing down. Behind the laughter, there are a few mocking kissing noises. They fill you with great shame so you do the logical thing and snap at everyone.

"Fuck off, shithead!"

You're making this entertaining to them. If you would just ignore them as Titus does, they would get bored and stop picking on you. But your pride and masculinity are just that fragile. 

And there comes the paranoia again. Is it too obvious that there is... or was, something between you and Titus? 

There must be if those idiots could pick up on it... right? Perhaps it's your uncaring grins or the way you seem so relaxed around one another. The way he has his arm around you... oh god. 

Calm down. No need to make a big deal out of a joke. 

You close the magazine, hand it back to your teammates, grab your bag, and leave. Despite the intense workout, you feel like taking a long jog, or maybe go to the gym and beat the hell out of a punching bag... or someone.

There are footsteps rapidly approaching behind you. You don't turn around to know who it is. "What's the hurry?"

"Nothin'. Thinkin' of goin' to the gym."

"After that workout? You alright?"

"Yeah. Just need to punch somethin'." 

"What? You upset about the magazine callin' you a stampede?"

"No." You think it's great, really. You'll take pride in it. 

"Why not take me on? Afraid I'll beat your sorry ass?"

You snort. On the contrary, you're afraid of hurting him (and enjoying it) but he's already familiar with your monstrous nature and yet he still offers himself as a sacrifice to tame the beast. What say you? 

"Fine. But don't be a bitch about it when I crush you."

"We'll see about that!" He gives you a playful shove and then runs ahead in the direction of your shack, you immediately try to catch up and lung at him when you're close enough. Your bodies roll against the muddy ground but you remain held on to one another until you finally come to a stop. 

He laughs, all heart and heavy chested, the type of laugh that can make you smile even when you don't want to. The two of you lost your bags somewhere along the impact and as you get up to look for them, Titus attacks you and you're now face down in the dirt.

He pins you with his weight, sitting on top of you as he continues to chuckle. You wiggle beneath him and try to shake him off until eventually, you use the strength of your arms to push yourself up, as though you were just doing push-ups, and he was just an added weight. 

The two of you fight on the wet floor, spinning, battling for dominance. You're equally matched but you keep going until your lungs beg for air and your bones ache for some rest. Despite the pain, you're still laughing. 

He gets up, you follow, then he puts his hands up in a familiar gesture. The fight is not done yet. He swings his fist, you dodge. You throw a punch, it misses. This is your kind of dance. Your violent romance. This is where you fall in love. 

The old fighter's still got it. Still swift on his feet and always smarter than you. So when you land a hit, it feels satisfying. 

Blood trickles down the cut from your lips, blood drips down his nose. But the both of you are still smiling, wide, bruised, and bloodied smiles.

"Let's call it a tie."

You turn your head to spit. "Tired already?"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you look like you're about to drop dead."

Next round it is then. 

You strike first. Sometimes it surprises you just how much Titus can endure, not just physically, but in general. He's endured you for all these years and he's endured all the worst things about you. He's always so patient. He's rowdy but calm. He's level headed. You feel envy again.

"Come on, I know you can do better than that." He taunts. 

You propel yourself forward and tackle him, as he tries to dodge you like a bullfighter dodges a bull, you open your arm and hook him, the two of you fall on the ground again. You get on top of him, he rolls and switches your positions, you repeat his actions, and you roll until eventually, you end up falling into the chilling cold water of the lake.

"That was fun," You nod in agreement. "We needed another shower after this anyway." He ducks his head underneath the water and washes his hair before surfacing once more, shaking his head and letting the water splash everywhere. He cups his hands and fills them with water then throws it on you, you retaliate. Another fight breaks out.

By the time it's over, you're stripped down to nothing but your boxers. You would have preferred a warm shower over this but you're still having a good time. The two of you wash the mud and blood off your body and hair then do your best to clean your clothes. When you're done, you and Titus race back to the shack. He looks through your cabinet for something clean to wear, you pick up whatever you can find to warm you up.

The only way you can end this day is by having some good dinner.

The night suddenly seems a lot more beautiful. The world seems right. You're looking at everything through rose colored lenses, as one does when he's in a good mood. It's strange, isn't it? Just a few hours ago you were filled with anger, and yesterday you were bawling your eyes out. Now you feel... relaxed.

It's such a dilemma because obviously you love Titus and you love spending time with him, but at the same time your relationship is the cause of most of your problems. What are you supposed to do when the one thing you love becomes the source of your anxiety? It brings you joy but also makes you paranoid. Can you live with the pain?

You blink and shake your head. You see Titus talking but you can't make out the words. Ah, shit. Of course, he picks up on that.

"Got water in your ears? Or did I just hit you that hard?" He smirks.

"Yeah, as if you could do that, tch."

He smiles but doesn't say anything. He wonders about where you go when you blackout like that. It's not apparent to you but he actually worries about losing you to your mind. Sure he jokes about you not having a brain, but he knows you get lost in the fragments of it, and perhaps one day you won't be able to find your way back.

"You alright?" A pointless question, he knows. But that doesn't stop him from asking.

"Yeah," You straighten up. "We eatin' or what?"

You dig in and it doesn't take long for you to strike up a conversation while simultaneously taking a look at the people around you. It's lively as usual, you got the typical workers drinking, other men hitting on chicks, and girlfriends just trying to enjoy their day out.

A drunken man is on the Karaoke stand making your ears bleed. You cup your hands around your mouth, yelling out "Get off the fuckin' stage, man!" Titus punches you on the arm but chuckles regardless.

"Fucker." he mutters. You grin.

"He's terrible."

"He's drunk. But yeah, he sucks ass."

"My ears are fuckin' bleedin'." You move your hair back, and no, your ears aren't bleeding but it's still funny enough for the two of you.

Your attention is quickly swept away by the sound of a loud crash somewhere in the bar. You and Titus immediately get up to see what the commotion is about and find two burly men standing in front of an old man, having just broken the table the poor guy was eating on.

Being the good citizens that you are, you decide to help. But you're frozen in place when you see the old man calmly stand up and take out the two men before they could even blink.

"Woah."

You close your hung jaw and shake your head. Titus is already walking up to the old man, you quickly follow, kicking the two men on your way to make sure they're knocked out cold, and damn, they are.

"That was insane, old man." Titus says. He seems genuinely impressed.

The man doesn't say anything, he simply sits back down and lights up a cigarette.

"Hey, are you deaf? My friend is talkin' to you."

Titus smacks you on the back of the head. "Shut up before he kicks your ass too."

You snort. "As if."

"I mean it, Glenny." He sounds too serious for you to make a joke about it so you swallow your tongue.

Titus puts his hand out. "Titus Hardie," he points at you with his free hand. "This here is my friend, Glen."

The old man stares at Titus for a while but then shakes his hand. "Theodore Malli."

Titus nods and moves the broken pieces of the table out of the way before dragging another table to where Theodore sat. He pulls up a chair and invites himself to sit down with the old man. This feels a bit awkward to you but you grab a chair as well.

"Why were these guys givin' you shit?"

Theodore shrugs. Not really a man of many words, is he?

"But you handled yourself well! So what, you a cop?" There's no response and yet it seems as though Titus got his answer somehow. "Guess that was a dumb question. Ain't no cops in Martinaise. A spy then?"

"No."

That's exactly what a spy would say! No way a normal fragile old man can take out two men twice his size that easy! You hate to admit that you're growing curious now too.

Titus taps on his chin, thinking for a bit, his head is lowered slightly, his hat casting an eerie shadow over his eyes. "Military then?"

Theodore takes his cigarette out from in between his lips and exhales. That's the only answer Titus gets. Are you missing something here? It seems like the two men are having some inaudible conversation that you don't understand because the man isn't saying anything but it seems as though Titus understands his silence. What the fuck is going on?

Somehow the night goes on just like this. You order some beers and drink to the late night with what seems like a one-sided conversation going on for the most part. Every now and then, yeah, Theodore would say something, but most of the time it's this weird telepathic talk that you have no chance of taking a part in so you just sit there awkwardly trying to figure out what the fuck is happening.

Weird.

You think you just befriended the old grey haired man? Actually, while you're just sitting there, you had a lot of time to look at Theodore. The man is dark skinned, already losing hair, he's greying but his hair is not quite white just yet. Perhaps in a few more years. He has a stiff expression that seems calm, too calm for a man who just beat the shit out of someone. His eyes are dark brown. There are a few visible scars on him. He's not lanky but he's not built either, he's just... average. Nothing about him stands out to you.

It seems that you've been staring for a while because he turns to look at you, suddenly you feel shivers run down your spine. You look away and busy yourself with your drink. Holy shit, this is strange.

Just who the hell is this guy?


	27. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band is slowly coming together!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today marks the one year anniversary of Memento Mori. For those who have been with us from the very beginning, you know this version of the story is not the first. There was an older draft written completely differently. We're proud of what we have accomplished with this universe. The journey has been long but it's not over. 
> 
> This fic is a love letter. It's all I've wanted it to be. A love letter to the Hardie Boys, to Glen, to Titus, and even ZA/UM. 
> 
> I would like to thank those who stood with me while I created this. I would like to thank Gaith for all the effort he's put into this as well, and you, of course, the reader, for sticking with us for so long. A year is a long time. 
> 
> Gaith has collected and compiled a lot of art made by him and many others regarding this universe so if you have the time, check it out  
> https://toyhou.se/7168366.glen-titus/8311125.memento-mori
> 
> Thank you again, truly. 
> 
> I will drink to the road ahead!

Chapter 25  
 **THE HARDIE YEARS**

"Do you ever think about whether it's too late to fix this shit?"

"Fix what?"

You look up at the vast night sky, a dark purple-blue, dotted with yellow stars. Under your head rests your hand, carrying the weight of your skull, separating you from the ground below. Next to you lies Titus Hardie with a cigarette between his lips, the smoke rises to the air and vanishes into the world above. He turns to look at you and for a while, you're still, but then you bring your finger to the side of your head and tap on your temple.

"Ah," He goes then looks back up at the sky. "Well, you ain't broke, Glenny. Can't fix what ain't broke."

But you are. He just doesn't understand. 

"Why do you think that?" 

He shrugs. " 'cause I know you."

You've always been like this since you were a kid. 

"You're a comic book villain cliché, Glen," he takes another drag of his cigarette then goes on. "No offense."

You're not even sure what he means by that to be offended. "I don't get it."

His eyes are focused on the dimly lit end of his smoke, its given him all it could offer so he puts it out and tosses the cigarette in a random direction. "Well," he finally says. "You got the story of a cliché supervillain, " Comic books. You remember reading them as a kid, by that I mean you understood them from the pictures. But that's what you liked about them, you didn't need to read to enjoy them. The art told you all you needed to know. "That's what I love about you the most."

An odd thing to say, you think. He likes you because you're like a supervillain? "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

He chuckles. "You got every reason to be the cliche supervillain, right? Shit life, shitty dad, poor, angry," he could go on and on but he assumes you get the picture. "It would make anyone nuts, and you are. You're fuckin' psycho," Okay, he's being a bit too honest now. "But you ain't a villain. I know you try to be good and it's tough to be good when you feel like shit all the time. But you do it anyway."

Every possible string of words you could think of saying dies on your tongue. Honestly, you're a little shocked. You open your mouth but you don't make a sound. When he looks at you, things get even harder. His smile... it means everything to you.

"That's why I know you'll never be like your old man." He adds.

You don't feel like a good person. There's so much blood on your hand and you're only twenty six, you've hurt so many people, stomped on so many heads, you've done so much bad shit.... so how could he say that? What makes you a good person? "You're so full of shit, Titus Hardie."

He arches a brow and grins. "You're the one who's full of shit. You just talk big but I know you're a real softie deep down."

You punch him on the arm. He just laughs. "Shut up. No, I'm not! "

"Yes, you are!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are!"

What a bunch of kids. He decides to be the bigger man. Silence fills the space between you. You rest one of your legs over the other and rock it gently.

"You know," He starts again. You look at one another, "I've always known you were gay." You sit up and glare at him. He does not seem intimidated. Instead, he sits up as well and puts his hand under his jaw, rubbing it with his finger. "Probably all the sports magazines you had in your room when I know you can't read."

"What? That's fuckin' dumb!"

"Really? So you didn't jack off to bodybuilders?"

You punch him again He laughs. He likes being right.

"Anyway, I had a point to this. It's just to say that I didn't care back then and I don't care now. But whatever."

Whatever, he says, to keep it from being too cheesy. What he's trying to say is that he loves you just the way you are. Tell him something nice back.

"Yeah, well... it's whatever." 

Close enough.

The two of you lie back down for a bit before Titus jolts up again. "We should get goin'. I told Theo we'd meet him tonight."

"For what?"

He shrugs. "He wanted to talk. Maybe he's just bored. Who knows."

Of all the people you could have made friends with in Martinaise, the two of you befriend an old man. Eh, Theo's not so bad. He's a little cold but you don't really care.

"Where we meeting?"

"The Whirling."

Your new favorite place to drink beer, hear depressed people sing, and also look at girls. I mean... pretend like you're looking at girls. 

The world beneath is not ready to let you go and seduces your body into staying a bit longer until Titus hops up and offers you his hand. You take it and he pulls you up. 

You drag yourselves to the Whirling-In-Rags and find the dark skinned old man already sitting down with a cigarette in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. 

As you go to take your seat, Titus gestures for the waiter to bring you some beers. The place is playing a soft melody, it's almost drowned out by the sound of people yelling and chatting. 

This reminds you of the good old days at Elliot's diner. You miss the scrawny little bastard, and Kurt too. You still need to respond to the last letter they sent (by that I mean Titus has to respond.)

You join Theo at his table and already feel his dark aura. Jesus Christ, this old man makes you feel like you're about to just have a long chat with your dad... which mostly includes you doing the talking and him sort of just sitting there. 

He pretends that you and Titus aren't there or something and doesn't join most of your conversations but he observes you. Theodore Malli. You don't know much about him but while he sits there silently, he learns all he needs to know about you. 

He's learned that you and Titus grew up together and that you're very close. He's learned that you would do anything for Titus, including murdering someone, and he's learned that all about your ambitions and dreams. He doesn't need to know you've murdered before to know just how crazy you are, he already knows just by looking you in the eyes. He's had enough experience both in his field of work as well as life to know what fucked up looks like when he sees it. 

There's no judgment here. Everyone in this room is their own kind of fucked up. Three fucked up people with their own fucked up thoughts, dealing with it in their own fucked up ways.

"What about you, Theo?" Titus finally says to the greying haired man. "You haven't said a thing since we got here. Didn't you ask us to come?" 

The old man nods and turns his head to spit inside the spittoon. He was just waiting for the two of you to stop talking. 

"I got some work for you."

You and Titus exchange glances. "Work? We already got a job." Two if you count Rugby as a job.

He looks at Titus and there they go with their whole telepathic talk again. Your best friend nods and you don't even understand why.

"Not that kinda job, I see," How the fuck do they do that? "What do you have in mind?"

"Woah, woah, woah," you put your hands up. "Somebody gonna fill me in?" 

Maybe if you were patient and waited to hear what Theo had to say next you'd know. Sit down. Shut up. Listen... by the way those are Theo's thoughts, not my words. Just making that clear.

"Someone's been causing trouble."

"So? This is Martinaise. Everybody's causin' fuckin' trouble." You sit back and cross your arms over your chest. 

"How can we help?" 

"Guns?"

Guns? You lean forward. Now that's something you're interested in hearing more about. "Yeah. I got a gun from my old man, Glen has one too."

He nods. 

"What do we know?"

"Not much." He looks around at the people in the hostel.

The people know. 

"True. Someone would know somethin'," Titus rubs his chin. "Do we have a startin' point?"

Another nod from Theo and he hands Titus a piece of paper. Nothing on it makes sense to you. 

"Alright. We'll talk to her and see what we can find out."

"What?!" You're still confused about what's going on and honestly, you feel a bit left out right now.

"We're just helpin' some folks out, Glen."

"So we playin' cops right now?"

"Tch, no. We'll actually do our jobs. Unlike them." He folds the piece of paper and puts it inside his pocket. 

"You can't be serious, T."

He shrugs. "Why not? Maybe you'll finally find a reason to put your fists to good use, huh?"

You like the sound of that but you still think this is stupid. Regardless, Titus wants to do this so you know and he knows that that means you'll follow him, no matter what, because you can't let him go into danger alone. 

"Fine. Whatever." 

"It's settled then. Tomorrow we go ask around for information and zero in on whoever is messin' up our district! We're gonna kick ass!"

You grin. That does sound really fun! Damn it, you're sold!

But that's tomorrow's work. Today, you got a spittoon to fill and beer bottles to empty. 

* * *

Turns out investigating people is actually rather boring. Titus, of course, does the talking. You just stand there and look intimidating. The bodyguard Titus Hardie never asked for but is stuck with. 

One person leads to another, and another, and another. There's some sort of detective work going on here that you don't really understand. You leave the smart stuff for your best friend. 

Then you stop by an odd place. There's a burning barrel outside with a few people gathered around it to keep warm. The place seems more run down than usual, must be a very old building that homeless people use for shelter. The most unhinged people live here. They have nothing to lose. 

"We're lookin' for Frank." Titus says to the group of people. They look at him for a moment then return to whatever it was they were doing. 

"Hey!" You rawr. "You fuckin' deaf?! We're talkin' to you!" 

They do not care. 

"It's alright, Glen." Titus puts a hand on your shoulder.

Secondhand emotions, you feel them a lot. Titus is not offended that people ignored him but you're offended for him. Frankly, Titus doesn't really care. Move on. You can find Frank on your own. 

Actually, that might be him right now. A young man approaches you, mohawk hair, purple colored. Pierced nose and ears, a tattoo is visible from under his shirt, the ink crawls up his neck and to the back of his ear. He looks like trouble for sure. 

"Looking for Frank?"

"Yeah. You him?"

He shakes his head and then looks to the side as if to subtly show you where Frank is. Whoever this guy is, he doesn't want Frank to know he's ratting him out. Don't cause a scene.

Titus nods, it's barely visible. 

"Why are you looking for him?"

"He killed someone. We have some questions."

The punk man laughs, it sounds almost degrading. "What? Like cops?"

"No. We're just," Titus shrugs. "Concerned citizens." 

"Sure. Anyway, careful. He might not look like it but he's tough shit."

"Thanks."

Suddenly the other man's entire demeanor changes. He becomes angry and shoves Titus. "Now get the fuck out of here and don't let me see you again, you fucks. Or next time we won't be so nice!"

It's just an act. Titus understands that so he doesn't take it personally. He grabs you before you bounce the man and tear him to shreds, and the two of you walk off in the direction you were led down. It's an ally way, narrow and long. You're not claustrophobic, you're used to these tight spaces since your father used to lock you up in small rooms with no lights at all for days on end, but still, you feel a little uneasy walking down the ally. The paint is chipping off the walls, clinging to your clothes whenever your shoulders brush against the bricks. They're old and look like they're about to fall apart any minute now. You know walls don't smell but somehow these walls reek of decay. 

You don't like the fact that Titus is in front of you. You want to be ahead, in case someone jumps out and tries to attack him. But you stay close to him, your fingers twitching to reach for your gun.

Then, finally, the narrow walls start to widen, and you're able to take your place next to Titus. At the end of the long walk, there's a campsite. More burning barrels, a lot of empty cigarette packs, and alcoholic beverages tossed about. This place stinks of drugs and alcohol. The most dangerous type of people are the ones who are not aware of their actions. Stay sharp.

Titus puts two fingers between his lips and blows, making a high pitched whistling sound. 

A few men come flocking out of their tents. "Which one of y'all is Frank?"

They don't respond. They simply stand there... with the intent to threaten. Of course, it doesn't work on you. 

"Alright," your friend goes on. "Listen, we've been on a wild goose chase all day. We just want to talk to Frank."

"Who the fuck are you?" One of the men asks. 

"My name is Titus Hardie," he points at you. "This is Glen Dixon."

"What do you want, assholes?" 

"Like I said, we just want to talk to Frank."

"Why?"

"Because he killed some folks and caused a lot of trouble." 

The men look at one another and then burst out laughing. One of them pulls out a gun and points it towards Titus, sending a red alert to your brain. You reach for your own gun but Titus stops you.

"We don't want any trouble. We just want to bring the families some closure. We can talk this out, peacefully. No one has to get hurt."

"Listen to that bastard." The men laugh again, Titus remains unbothered. 

"What are you doin', T? We should be blastin' their asses!"

You're clearly outnumbered. Blasting away doesn't sound like a good strategy. Leave the thinking to the big kids. 

"Fuck off! Frankie doesn't want to see you."

"Alright, okay," The older man says, putting his hands up in defeat. "But it's kinda cold. You wouldn't mind if my friend and I just took a moment to warm up next to the fire, would you?"

"Fuck off."

Titus ignores them and heads to one of the burning barrels. Foolishly placed next to one of the tents. You stand next to him. The fire from the barrel is indeed very warm. You stare into the flames, they snap at you and almost seem like they're trying to crawl out of the barrel. Hot and glowing, destructive... beautiful. You could almost reach out to touch it, but you're smart enough to know that's gonna cost you a hand.

You want to burn this place down, set this fire free. Little do you know that that's exactly what Titus was thinking of doing. While the other men were busy mocking you and chatting, you and him exchange glances. He nods, you grin like the devil and kick the barrel, causing it to tumble and fall towards one of the tents, the fire begins consuming it. 

Fuck yeah! Now you're talking! You pull out your gun, Titus does the same, and the two of you step away from the growing fire. It spreads to the next tent and the next. Eating up what could be the homes of these fine young gents. 

As you can expect, they were not pleased with your actions. A fight erupts. 

Bullets start flying everywhere. 

The element of surprise is always good. It gives you an advantage. Even when you're outnumbered, if you have a good strategy, you can come out on top. That's why Titus Hardie is the leader character here. He knows how to plan, you know how to fight.

In all honesty, he's a little disappointed. He really didn't want to add to the body count but alas, it was clear you were not going to get anywhere by just talking. 

The older man is a skilled shot. His father taught him well, while you learned to shoot a gun to save your life. Both of you are good with a gun, and it's helping you in this situation. 

You see the shine of a knife from a man you thought you killed, he prepares to attack but you jump him, knocking him back down. Every nerve in your body is high on adrenaline and screams at you to protect your best friend. Your need for destruction blinds you. 

The sound of bones cracking against your knuckles is satisfying, you keep punching and punching, the man beneath you no longer qualifies as a threat but you don't stop, not until you've beaten him to death. You grab his gun and become twice as dangerous with two guns now in your possession. 

The world around you becomes a warm ball of fire as the flames grow. You need to get out of here and fast before the fire surrounds you. The men from the opposing side have already begun to flee... all but one.

"I'm guessin' you're Frank."

"The fuck did you do to my place?!" He yells. "You're gonna regret this!" 

"Well, if you had just talked to us like we asked, this wouldn't have happened." 

"You two are dead! You fucking hear me? Dead!" And then he runs off.

"Should I--?"

"Sure. Don't kill him though."

You nod, aiming at the running man's leg. You pull the trigger, and down goes the big bad wolf. 

"We should take him back to Theo." 

You walk towards the fallen man, face pressed against the white snow. He turns around and suddenly there's a sharp pain in your shoulder. The weight of the bullet that had just pierced your skin is heavy. Blood stains your clothes. It stings like a motherfucker and draws a yell out of you. 

Titus kicks the gun out of Frank's hand and beats him unconscious. 

"Shit! You alright?"

You place your hand on your shoulder and squeeze tightly. The pain doesn't stop but you nod regardless. "Yeah... fuck." 

"We'll get that checked back in the Whirling. Hang in there." 

You nod and make your way back to the hostel to wait for Theo. Titus makes sure to tie Frank down so he doesn't escape while you wait outside. With the help of some employees in the hostel, Titus is able to check on your wound.

"Shit."

"Is it bad?"

"No. But you won't be able to play rugby for a while."

"Ah, fuck." That's the worst thing that could happen to you. 

"Don't worry. We don't have any games lined up any time soon. Should give you some time to heal up. Just don't go pickin' fights." 

The two of you laugh because you know that's a no can do on your part. 

You promised the hostel you wouldn't bring trouble inside, which is why you're outside with your shirt off in the freezing cold, getting a bullet plucked out of you and bandaged. This happened because last time you ended up causing a storm in the hostel after a man tried to make some advances on one of the workers at the hostel and she was clearly having none of it. Safe to say you caused a lot of damage that came out of your paycheck. 

The hostel doesn't like having their shit broken and 'the big man at his office' doesn't like spending money paying for damages his workers caused. 

"Good thing this guy is a lousy shot or that could have hit your heart."

Lucky miss. 

You've become quite the crime fighters recently. I mean, you've always stood up for what you believed was right, but recently? It feels different. Must be because you have Theo now and he's sort of the head of this operation, or whatever it is that you're doing.

It's strange to you, you think, because Titus Hardie has never been a man who follows orders. And yet he has no problems with doing what Theo tells him to do. He must really respect the old geezer. 

"Where the fuck am I?" You hear from behind Titus. 

"The whirling."

"The fuck am I doing here?!" Frank wiggles and struggled against his restraints but to no avail. You put on your shirt and jacket and Titus packs the tools he used to patch you up. 

"Keep an eye on him till I come back, would you?"

You smirk. "Sure thing."

"Glen... easy."

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna kill him." You're just gonna hurt him a little bit. 

Titus goes inside the hostel. Leaving you alone with the man who just shot you. You crack your knuckles, the pain killers you took help you forget the pain in your arm. "I'm about to rearrange your fuckin' face."

Horror flashes on the man's face. It makes you feel good about yourself. You raise your fist, and like a sledgehammer against a wall, you break Frank's face. 

The people passing by don't do anything to stop you. They simply keep on walking by. That's until one brave soul pulls you away. You get ready to fight them as well until you realize it's Theo. Looking apologetic, you lower your fists. Theo is not amused. 

Titus returns not too long after and greets the old man. He looks at Frank, face covered in bruises and blood. "Sorry about that." He's really apologizing on your behalf because he knows you won't. 

You get a time out while they talk to Frank. Good. You grab some beer and enjoy your time inside the hostel, drinking and dancing with the crowd. Your arms get busy, wrapping around two ladies dancing with you. They smell nice, you think. They're very pretty too, "pretty" in the regular standard of society of course. They check most things off the list; including busty bodies and petite faces. 

You chat for a while. It's a good time but it doesn't develop further than that. It's time to go. 

"Have a nice night, ladies." 

They wave goodbye and wink at you and Titus who grins like an idiot. 

"I see you were making use of your time."

"Yeah. How did it go?"

"Well, we came to an agreement. If we catch Frank and his folks stirrin' up trouble again then we're gonna do more than just burn down their tents."

You're a little disappointed that this didn't end up with his brains served on a plate but Titus is a man of peace, and despite his demeanor, so is Theo. 

"Come on, let's go." Titus gestures to the exit with his head.

"Where are we goin'?"

"Meetin' an old friend." 

An old friend? Huh... look how easily you get jealous. Just a few words out his pretty little mouth and you're already burning up inside, regardless, you keep a straight face on. 

You arrive at a shitty home that reminds you a bit too much of your old place. The smell of booze is so strong that it seeps out the windows. Titus slams his fist against the door repeatedly. 

No answer.

A few more knocks. "Open the fuckin' door, Dennis."

Dennis? Sounds familiar but you can't say you remember meeting someone with that name. 

It takes a while but the door finally opens. The man who answers is completely disheveled, he's older than you and older than Titus, his eyes are red like he's on something or he hasn't slept in weeks. His hair is drawn back, despite being in his thirties, he seems to be already balding. In his hand is a beer bottle. You can smell the alcohol from where you stand. So not only does the house remind you of your old place, but this man seems like he could be your father reincarnated, as weird as that sounds.

"Well, well, well," he smiles, teeth all rotten and yellow. It looks very unappealing and extremely uninviting. "If it ain't the boxin' champion, Titus Hardie."

"Dennis Bailey. You really let yourself go. What the fuck happened to you, man?"

He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. "Got divorced, nasty shit."

Titus takes off his hat and rubs the back of his head. "Fuck, man. That sucks."

He shrugs. "Yep. What about you? Heard you're a big star now."

"Martinaise Rhinos, fly-half."

"So you left the prizefightin' life behind you, huh? Chasin' some new glory." You can't help but feel as though his words are bitter, perhaps not at Titus himself, but at the fact that the guy is doing something with his life that doesn't only include being depressed and rotting away with a beer bottle in hand.

"I still get to kick ass, but I just don't get paid for it anymore."

Dennis looks at you. "You're still here."

The fuck is that supposed to mean? You don't even remember this guy. He probably looked different before the divorce sent his life to hell. Titus seems to take notice of the tension and wraps an arm around you. "Glen? Of course, he is! He's my best bud."

He glares at you, you glare at him then he leans against the door frame. "Anyway, the fuck you doin' here?"

"Listen, how do you feel about going back to the good old days?" Spoken as though he's fifty. To be fair, Dennis looks like he's fifty already but he can't be older than thirty six. 

"Tch, what? You gettin' back into the ring?"

"Nah, this is better. Bigger."

The eldest man seems interested in bigger and better so he thinks about it while he has another drink. "Bigger?"

Titus nods. "There's this guy we work with, his name is Theo, he wants to clean up Martinaise."

Dennis snorts. "Clean up?"

"Yeah, you know, help folks."

"Like save cats from trees?"

"I mean if we need to, yeah."

The man laughs and goes to close the door. You put your foot inside to keep him from shutting it, and then you swing the door open. Despite the small man having fighting experience, his lanky body has lost shape, he's no longer the fighter he once was and there was no way in hell he could overpower you. "He wasn't done talkin', asshole. And when Titus Hardie talks, you fuckin' listen. Got it?"

Titus thanks you with a pat on the shoulder. When Dennis opens the door again, there's a makeshift blade in his hand, pointed right at you.

"You still got that old rusty thing? Come on, Dennis."

"Yeah, they don't call me Shanky for nothin'. Now take your mut of a boyfriend and scram."

Uh-oh. He said the thing that pisses you off. You grab his arm and slam it against the door frame, once, twice, thrice, until he drops the blade. Shoving him down to the floor, you take the beer bottle, drop what remained in it, and smash it against the floor, threatening the smaller man with the sharp edges of the glass.

From where you tower over him, you see how much this man resembles a rat. You don't have a good feeling about him. It's best you and Titus just leave. You don't need him.

"Easy, Glenny. No need to kill anyone else, alright?"

Shanky looks up at you in terror at the mention of "anyone else." He now understands just how dangerous you are. Titus Hardie never fails at hyping you up. Bad cop, good cop. Insane vigilante, good vigilante

"Let me slash his throat open, T!" You smirk, wide and toothy. Your sharp teeth instill even more fear into the smaller man beneath. You play the insane vigilante really well, all you have to do is be yourself.

"Hey, no need for that. Right, Dennis?"

He nods. It doesn't stop you from pressing the broken glass against his neck, only a bit, just to prove your point, then you get up. Shanky stays down for a bit, probably collecting himself and the shattered pieces of his dignity before he too stands up.

"Tell me we're at least gettin' paid for this."

"We're helpin' the people we grew with, people who looked after us when we had no one. These people have nothin' to offer us, Dennis. You know that. We may not get paid in cash, but I'm sure we'll have their gratitude," He grins. "We'll be heroes. Won't that be great?"

Yeah, well that doesn't pay the bills, sadly.

"Just give it a try. For the glory! Don't you miss havin' a crowd that gave a shit about you? That cheered you on?"

He rolls his eyes and sighs. "Fine, whatever."

"Good. We meet at night at the Whirling. And hey," Titus looks at the poor miserable excuse of a house. "If you need a job, the docks are always hirin'."

"Yeah. Can you fuck off now?"

"See you tomorrow then."

You let him close the door this time and you and Titus walk off.

"You sure about this, T?"

"About Dennis? He's a slimy son of a gun, but he'll come around."

You have a bad feeling about this but you trust Titus.

Time passes, you don't go home. Instead, the two of you stand under a big tree, smoking. There's a heavy weight coming from Titus's gaze. You try not to look at him but after a while it gets hard. Your eyes meet and you exhale the smoke from your cigarette. "What?"

He grins. "You really scared him shitless back there, you know?"You laugh to yourself then put the cigar back between your lips. "We're doin' somethin' great, Glenny."

You still don't like this idea, pretending you're cops. taking the responsibility of protecting Martinaise and its people, helping them when you can barely help yourselves. But Titus is a good man with a big heart. Though his good heart is motive enough, you know that a part of him is doing this for the one thing that he's always strived for... Glory.

Let me tell you something, Titus Hardie likes being in the spotlight. he loves the cheering of the crowd and being the center of attention. And perhaps that's one of the reasons he likes being around you. In a pathetic way, you make him feel like a god. Guess that's what makes you work well together. He's a god and you thrive on worshipping him.

The rest of the night is calm, oddly so. Titus looks proud of himself, as though somehow, you stopping one bad man today is the reason why the night is so peaceful. You finish your smoke and say your goodnights for the day.

There's a lot of work to be done.


	28. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

It's one of those days then...

The bed feels far too comfortable despite the shape of it. It stinks of sweat. The sheets have lost their white color and instead have become yellow-ish. There are a few burn holes from cigarettes you were too lazy to put out properly, and frankly, the bed doesn't smell all that great. Don't even get me started on the booze stains. Somehow though, the person next to you does not seem all that disgusted by your lack of self-care. His face is buried in pillows, you prefer it that way. He seems to be drifting off to sleep after a hard round of fucking but you don't want him here in the morning.

You don't want him to be here for when the feeling of ecstasy wears off. 

"Get out." Your voice is harsh. He lifts his gaze to look at you, there's no response, but you see the confusion swimming in his grassy green eyes. "What? You fuckin' dumb? I said get the fuck out." 

"The hell is wrong with you?" He asks. It's better that he doesn't know the answer.

You kick his clothes off the bed, it feels degrading to let him have to pick it up so he could get dressed but he takes his revenge with a smack to your face, it's really more of a punch. You contain your anger and do what you can to keep the bloodthirsty demons inside you at bay. It's not his fault you're such a mess... you let him leave alive.

The bed feels far too comfortable...

You can't bring yourself to get up and get cleaned. You're not disgusted by the mixture of cum and sweat, but rather something deeper. When you're horny you don't think about how much you're going to hate yourself. You just think about fucking. It feels good at the moment when they're begging you and letting you hurt them. You suffocate them, their faces become obscured by lust. They're just shapes, you never remember them. Nothing matters to you at that time. You're just chasing another high...

But the fall is always painful. 

You turn your head. On the nightstand is an old photo of you and Titus, you were maybe eleven at the time. The frame is somewhat dusty but it does not affect the clarity of the photo. 

Looking at this you feel... sad. Nostalgia of the most painful kind.

When did you become this? 

Were you always like this? 

Perhaps it was awakened when Titus first hugged you. Or perhaps it's something greater than that, something wired in you. 

The first person who's ever shown you any sort of positive emotions was Titus. How were you supposed to feel about someone who's stuck by you the way Titus did? Feelings were alien to you. But he's shown you the best of them... so again... how were you supposed to feel?

How could you possibly not fall in love?

How could anyone not possibly fall in love with him? 

You were just a child who's never even known the kind touch of another human being before Titus Hardie showed you that fists were not only for punching. The world isn't always cruel. He taught you that. 

So of course you fell in love with him. The greatest tragedy is now you know he feels the same way but... 

It will never be.

A lump forms in your throat. You put the picture aside and decide that's enough thinking for now.

Sleep... 

The bed feels far too comfortable...

But you can't shut your brain off. The weight of your self-loathing settles on your chest and makes it hard for you to breathe. You try to clear your throat; all this smoking has really done a number on you. You want to spit but you can't leave the bed. Your legs feel paralyzed so you're left trying to drag the trash can close to your bed with nothing but the strength of your upper body. Your muscles got you covered. 

You shouldn't spit into the trash if you don't intend on changing it soon. The thing is becoming a spittoon and it'll start reeking like one. 

Despite the obvious negative impact smokes have on you, you still feel like you could really use a roll right now. 

Or drugs.

Molly... Mary-Jane. The only girls you love. 

Why do you think drugs are named after women? Perhaps it's the same reason why men always feel like naming their belongings after women. You do that too. You name all your guns. 

This is a bit of a side tangent here. You shouldn't be thinking about drugs. You need sleep, not another momentary high...

It's the only way you can function nowadays. Jumping from one joyride to the other. You need this thrill to feel something, something other than self-loathing. You need it just to get by. 

You don't want to have time to think. Ignorance is bliss. 

Just light a cigarette...

Then sleep. 

Lie down. Close your eyes. Sleep.

The bed feels far too comfortable. 

Sleep.

But it doesn't bring you much comfort. Your dreams are a theater of the mind, and your mind is fucked up. This play stars a young blonde boy and a familiar ghost.

It'll never let you forget. 

The little blonde boy is forced to do so many terrible things to entertain the ghost but the ghost hurts him anyway. 

So the little blonde boy hurts others. 

He started out small, stepping on bugs one too many times, throwing stones on cats, torturing animals... because he felt like a tortured animal too. Then he would put them out of their misery. They would sleep with the earth as their bedsheet. 

Then the little blonde boy hurt humans; biting, scratching, beating them up. 

He was becoming like the ghost. 

Until one day the little blonde boy met a kind little soul. The kind little soul held his hand and it did not burn. There was no pain. 

The little blonde boy realized then... he did not want to become like the ghost, for this kind little spirit, he wouldn't become like the ghost. He wanted to be better. He wanted to be good. But it was not easy. 

Nothing in life is ever easy. 

You wake the next morning feeling just as worn out. It's time for you to chase a living. Get dressed... go to work. 

The bed feels far too comfortable. 

You don't want to leave.

Your body still feels heavy. For a while, you do nothing but stare at the ugly moldy ceiling. You're going to lie and tell everyone you overslept after spending a wild night with some chick that doesn't exist...

... You're exhausted. Just a few more moments. You'll get up, eventually. Maybe.

Skip work today, stay here... The thought is tempting. You sink further into the springs of your bed and close your eyes. The sheets tie you down like rope and shield you from the cold outside. They keep you here.

A part of you insists you get up, but the thought of doing so is already tiring. You don't want to get changed and walk to work. Not today. You can already imagine the road, the trip seems endless in your head. It's too cold outside anyway. You don't want to bother.

The bed does not let go of you... so you stay.

and stay...

Perhaps hours have passed, or maybe mere minutes. You're not sure anymore. It doesn't matter anyway.

The lake in the near distance hums the song of waves. Behind your closed lids, you can imagine the old boat rocking in the water. You haven't taken the thing across the lake in a while.

Maybe what you're experiencing is what is known as seasonal depression. Happens in the winter. Of course, you don't believe in depression. You don't like things that you can't beat up physically. That's why all your mental problems have a fucking field day with you. But regardless of whether you believe in them or not, they are here, and they will kill you. 

* * *

You're not sure if you've fallen asleep or have spent the last few hours staring into nothing. If you've fallen asleep then you were lucky enough not to dream. You don't feel anything. Your body is heavy and light. You can't open your eyes. It's as though your entire body is shutting down organ by organ. 

Is this what dying feels like?

Come on, now. You're not dying.

But you haven't even gotten up to do your daily workout so I guess maybe you are. 

You hear something outside. At first, it's calm but then it becomes louder. Your eyes don't open. "Glen?" You hear from outside. The voice sounds so distant that you think you might have just imagined it. 

A knock on your window.

Your eyes don't open.

"Glen? Come on, man." The voice is closer this time but you don't feel like moving. 

The knocking becomes more rapid and yet somehow you manage to drown it out. It soon dissolves into background noise.

Crash! The window shatters as a spherical shaped ball comes rolling in. Titus climbs in through the window, his fingerless orange gloves do little to protect his hands from the shards of glass, they dig into his fingers and his palms but he only cares about making it to you. 

His firm hands grip you and pull you away from the comfort of the sheets. "Glenny?! Don't be dead."

You grunt and miss the relieved look on his face. "I ain't fuckin' dead." 

It's silent for a while then there's an echo of a sound... "Oh." A pause then, "had some company over last night?"

You finally open your eyes and look at the state of your bed...

Embarrassing. 

The room still smells of booze, sex, and sweat. You farm animal.

"Sorry about your window."

You're lucky that the sun rarely ever comes out in Martinaise or the blinding lights would have obliterated your eyes.

You notice then, the blood on his hand, it bleeds onto your skin. He doesn't seem to feel it, and if he does, then he doesn't care. There are little shards of glass sinking deeper into the fibers of his flesh... And he's just standing there looking at you. 

What an idiot. 

"Your hands"

He finally looks at them, or rather at the stains of blood he's left on you. "Huh." His eyes are glued to his palms. There are little torn pieces from his glove where the glass cut through, he seems more upset about his ruined gloves than the stinging of the glass or the blood dripping down his palm.

You take his hand and carefully remove his glove. 

"Tibbs will fix the window for you." He says. You already know Tiberius will fix your window, as he's done several times before.

You spend the next half hour plucking glass shards out of his palm and cleaning up the cuts before bandaging them, all the while resisting the strange urge to place his bloodied hand on your cheek and smearing it all over like some satanic ritual and then letting your lips kiss his blood stained skin. Perhaps it'll make you whole. 

You scare yourself more and more by the day. Curse your weird thoughts and strange desires.

"So where are you hidin' 'em?"

"Hidin' what?"

He gestures with his head at the bed.

"I ain't hidin' shit."

"So you skipped work to jack off?" He grins playfully. Scratch that, you don't want to kiss his bloody palms anymore. You want to shove the glass down his throat. 

"No!"

"Well, it's one or the other."

"Why do you care? You jealous or somethin'?"

"Tch, you wish." 

You do. So much. 

"Anyway, the big guy isn't gonna be happy about you skippin' so you better be ready tomorrow."

A sigh escapes your lips. "That fat fuck..."

"Hey! The walls have eyes and ears, man. He might be listening." He flicks your nose, making you wrinkle it until the momentary sting fades. The slightly shorter man then turns away from you and grabs the radio, turning it on. Music fills the room instantly. It's some post-hardcore band called something like Wolves and Bears or some edgy shit. They do a lot of screaming.

"Don't know how you stand to listen to this shit without gettin' a headache."

He says as the music in the background yells out "YOU DON'T DESERVE ME. I'M FAR TOO CRUEL. SWIMMING IN THE SHALLOWS AND STEAL THE LOWEST FRUIT. ALWAYS HUNTING. FEELING FUCKING NOTHING." That's really as much as Titus can take from the screaming before he switched the channel.

"That's a damn good song that you just changed the station on."

"Yeah, yeah."

You sit next to him and watch him fiddle a bit more with the dials before deciding to listen to whatever. (That being rock music. Loud, but at least no screaming.)

"You feelin' alright?" 

The question seems strange to you. Of course you're not alright. 

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just haven't had my morning smoke yet."

"Those things will kill you, man." 

You chuckle and punch him in the arm. "Look who's talkin'." 

"I don't smoke as much as you do! You and Theo."

"Speakin' of the old man. How's he doin'?"

"You know the docks could always use more workers and Evrart appreciates the extra helpin' hands. Theo might be old but he's real tough. Could pull both our weights."

"And the little weasel?"

Titus chuckles. "Dennis? Yeah, he joined too. Better this than whatever the fuck he was doin' back home."

Probably dealing drugs or robbing people. That Dennis is gonna fuck you over the first chance he gets. You just feel it. 

If this is what washed up superstardom feels like, you don't want to experience it. 

"We really doin' this?" 

"Creatin' a group of vigilantes to help the people of Martinaise? Sure."

He makes it sound like it's a casual thing like anyone could just wake up one day and make this big decision. But Titus has been waiting for a chance like this, you know that. 

You nod. "You know I'll follow you anywhere, T." Even to the maws of death itself.

Titus smiles, it's one of those special smiles that he, unbeknownst to you, only gives you. In a place like Martinaise where people would be quick to back-stab one another, he feels grateful to have such a loyal friend.

You might not be that bad after all, Glen Dixon.

"What's Theo's plan anyway?"

"First, we get a crew, then I'll let you know the rest."

Ominous. You're not sure if you're down with that but you trust Titus of course. In the end, it doesn't really matter to you what the steps are as long as you get to beat people up.

"Come on." Titus says, you're unsure of the whats and wheres but as soon as he leads you into a dance, you understand... he just wants to have some fun. Somehow dancing while completely sober ends up with the two of you on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

It's quiet. The two of you focus on leveling your breathing. He turns his head and looks at you with that warm smile on his face. I could open his chest for you so you could have just a small taste of what he thinks when he looks at you that way. You thought you knew love because he taught you how to love, but you don't know a thing about it.

Regardless, I will only tell you that he feels really lucky; despite all that you've done to him, all the words flung and punches that left blood dripping down his nose and lips, after all the black eyes and broken bones... He feels lucky to have you. Nothing will change that for him because believe it or not, you're perfect to him the way you are, with all your fucked up imperfections, with all your flaws, with all that you've done, you remain perfect to him.

That, Glen Dixon, that is love.

It's a strange thing that even he doesn't understand sometimes. But it is what it is, and he takes it as such.

Whether platonically or not, the two of you know that you want to spend the rest of your lives in each other's presence. That is love. Unconditional, messy, complicated... and painful.

But that's not all. You lean on him, though you think you do it a bit too much, he likes it. He needs it even, as weird as that sounds. You see, Titus has a good heart and he loves doing good. Looking after you? That's something good. Saving you? That's something good. Don't think for a minute that Titus isn't aware of the fact that you worship the very ground he walks on. But he thrives on that sensation. That you need him... and in a sense, that makes him need you as well. The two of you give each other a sense that there's a reason to your existence, a purpose to this suffering. His is rescuing you from yourself, yours is the desire to become someone better, someone fit to be Titus Hardie's best friend. You're codependent on one another and perhaps that's what makes your relationship this strong. It's a give and take. You share the same beer bottle, to simplify it in a way that you'd understand.

Of course, it's hard for you to believe that Titus needs you. Your self-loathing is persistent and the image you have of him is that of a god. You are the lowest of the low... and he's too good for you. But he doesn't think that. He thinks that you're his equal. Where you see nothing but your flaws, he sees your strength. You'll never understand why he loves you, but he simply does. 

You don't turn to look at him. You're too afraid, so you wait for him to stare back up at the ceiling before asking, "what's next?"

"Like I said, we need a crew. I'm sure a lot of folks in Martinaise are pissed off and want to use their fists for good." 

Pissed off, that's a good way of expressing how the people of Martinaise should feel like. Maybe it really is time to get people rallied up, shout so loud that the rest of Elysium remembers you exist. Yeah! Now you're feeling it! 

"No more hurtin'."

"Yep. No more kids dyin' on the street."

No more fear. No more living on hope and praying and wishing for things to get better. You're going to make it happen! Maybe, just maybe, then people will start to accept you. 

"But you know what, Glenny?"

You look at him this time. "What?"

He playfully strangles you in a headlock and pulls you towards him. You don't fight, you simply laugh. "No matter how big our crew gets, you'll always be my ride or die." 

That was so cheesy that it prompts you to push him away. "Yeah, yeah. I know." 

You remain on the floor for a while longer, staring at nothing in particular. The silence is comfortable, despite how you were feeling in the morning, you're now actually... Relaxed. 

"We should get up soon."

"Yeah..."

But you don't. You stay even longer and end up wasting time talking while nothing of interest dances on the wood above for your entertainment.

"Okay, now we really should get up and meet Theo and Dennis. They should be waiting for us at the usual spot."

He stands up and you follow. Nothing unusual occurs on your way to the Whirling, at least, not until you get there. You see a small gathering of people, huddled up and looking at something. There's a river of red staining the cold white snow, you don't need to know more. The two of you rush to the scene, pushing through the crowd of people until you make it to the center where you see Theo, blood staining his clothes and hands. He looks up at you and shakes his head. The man he was trying to aid is gone. 

"What happened?" 

"Hit and run." 

"Where's Dennis?"

Theo gestures with his head towards one of the roads, Dennis probably went to chase after whoever did this. 

"They had guns." Theo adds. Ah, shit. That can't be good. You should probably find Dennis before they shoot the poor bastard. 

"He probably hasn't gone far." 

Titus nods. You're almost surprised by how quickly his demeanor can change from playful and laid back to serious and stern. He's often like that during work too. At home, you can call him Titus. At work, you best call him 'boss'. At first, you thought it was pretty stupid. You grew up with that man. But eh, work has its moods, and you two fucking around behind the shack at the lake is a whole different mood. 

Anyway, now is not the time for this train of thought. Find Shanky or whatever it is that he calls himself. 

"Do you have your gun?"

You give Titus a wicked smile. "Always." And then leave him to tend to the body with Theo, somewhere off the streets, probably to do their smart people investigation or whatever where they find out who this man is and why would someone want to kill him. You think robbery because of course. But anyway, that's up for Theo and Titus to determine. As for you? You hope you get to blast some faces off with your gun. 

You follow the footsteps left in the snow. It's hard to determine how many people have fled but you can recognize a pair of prints, Shanky's. You find him leaning by a tree, smoking. When he sees you, he almost jumps. The air becomes tense. 

"Where did they go?"

"Don't fuckin' know. Tried to follow 'em but lost 'em."

He didn't lose them. He got scared. 

You grab two fists full of his shirt and pull him towards you, he's but a tiny little critter in your grip. "Which way, rat face?"

He points somewhere beyond a wooden fence. It's all you need to know. But you decide to rattle Shanky up a bit so you shove him against the tree. 

"Get movin'." 

"You're fuckin' nuts! There are more of 'em than there are of us."

"Then we find a way. Now move!"

What happens next is a blur. You don't remember much of it but according to Shanky you got jumped, the two of you fought a good fight but eventually, you were outnumbered and the gang had the upper hand. You barely managed to escape. 

There's a bullet hole gushing out blood on your side, Titus tried to mend it as best as he could. "you'll be fine." He says. His voice does not shake. That's how you know that this is just a scratch. 

He's going to need to sew the wound closed so he gives you alcohol, lots of it. It's easier to numb the pain. By the time you're sober again, you'll have a new scar. 

Just another one, you sing in your head, another one, 'nother one, another. 

Paint your pretty body with scars. Dodododo~

You try to focus on Titus. He's too busy aiding you to care about your blurry vision. His hands are stained red with blood... Your blood. So nice. You want to kiss his palm so you could taste your sins on his skin, and let him have a taste as well. 

What are you? A fucking vampire? 

Your hair dances when you shake your head. You feel so tired. 

"There," Titus nods to himself, proud of his handy work. "That should do it. Well, looks like you'll be around to annoy me for a while longer, Glenny." 

You manage a lazy smile. "Maybe even forever." 

"Sounds good to me," He mirrors your expression. "Now get some rest."

Sleep. Sleep sounds nice right about now but you don't want to. You don't want to wake up alone, you fear the pain that'll rip you straight out of dreamland and back into reality. You know it'll come regardless if you sleep or not. Once the booze wears off... It's going to be hell. 

"Are you gonna stay?"

He looks at you then out the window for a moment before he returns to cleaning up and packing the 'medical equipment.'

"I'll come back in a bit. I just have to talk with Theo and Dennis. Won't be too long." 

You're disappointed but you have to man up so you just nod. 

The older man's lips twitch into a soft smile. He takes notice of your concerns and leans forward, his fingers caress your hair, long strong digits threading through your golden field. When he was young, his mother would play with his hair and his eyebrows, drawing the shape of them with her soft hand, calmly, gently, until he fell asleep.

He doesn't stop until you close your eyes. You don't see him leave. 

In your dreams, your hair is still being played with, this time by gentle feminine hands. You don't recognize them and yet they're so comforting. It's hard to bring yourself to turn your head to see the mysterious figure, but you do. The woman has long flowing blonde hair and ocean blue eyes that resemble yours. She looks at you with so much care. Her hands ache to caress you some more. 

Perhaps it is Dolores Dei, here to show you mercy from above...

She does look like a goddess. 

You notice, then, that she's cradling you like a child and somehow despite your size, she seems to have no problem holding you. 

"Look at you," her voice echoes in the vast nothingness, it's soft and beautiful, like a melody. "You have my eyes," Ocean blue, full of tears. "And the sun that never shines." Her slender fingers twirl around your hair. She becomes somewhat familiar to you, like an aberration.

You look like her. 

"Look at what he's made you." She sounds so sad.

You want to tell her that you can still be a good son. If she would just come back for you. 

"Well, that fucker's gone now." 

Her expression becomes one of anguish, not because the beast is gone, but because she knows it's not. You are your father's son. 

"Why did you leave?" You've always wanted to know. "Why didn't you take me with you?" 

She's smiling now, albeit a sad smile. "I went somewhere you cannot follow." 

You tilt your head, her words don't make sense to you. "What? I- I don't get it."

Her hand is gentle on your face, finally, a mother's kind touch. The love you've been missing... crumbles and turns into dirt. Her frame starts to lose color, her beautiful ocean eyes have dried out and become nothing but empty sockets. Her long flowing hair is swept away by the wind, strand by strand, and from her hands, where she held you, there was nothing but worms crawling out of her pores, feeding off what was left of her until nothing remained. She is a pile of bones, grey and old, a home for insects, leaving you to push yourself away from her arms that could no longer embrace you, and just like that, she becomes one with the abyss.

You wake up with a gasp, jolting up from your seat. The sudden movement causes your wound to send a red alert to the rest of your body, making you feel intense pain, it's strong enough to draw a hiss out of you.

"Woah there," Titus puts down a magazine he was reading to give you his full attention. He helps you lie back down and watches you carefully, studying the expression of fear on your face. "Bad dream?"

Who wouldn't have a bad dream after getting shot?

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

You don't argue. It's best to just focus on breathing right now.

"I'll get you some water."

"Beer?"

"Water."

"Okay." A defeated puppy.

It doesn't take Titus too long to return with two glasses of water. He takes a sip of his as he hands you yours. "Was it your old man again?"

"Not this time."

"Sometimes it scares me to think what nightmares would be like with a mind like yours."

You're glad he can't see it.

"Here, let me take a look at that," He points at the bandages around your waist, you drink down your glass of water then turn to sit up and let him inspect your wound. "Always gettin' yourself into shit, Glen Dixon, gettin' me worried."

"Yeah, well, someone had to chase down those fuckers and I sure as hell knew that Dennis fuck wasn't gonna do it. Besides, you gave me the okay."

"I did. I knew you can handle yourself."

"and I did."

"Almost."

"I'm not dead."

"This time."

You only started this whole vigilante thing and you already got shot... Exciting! Your future might not be long but at least you can say you died doing something adventurous, right? 

Anyway, while you're here pondering if you'll ever make it to thirty, Titus is staring intently at an old scar of yours. One of your very first, located in between your shoulder and chest. It makes him unconsciously rub at a small scar on his jaw. It's barely noticeable but you know it's there. You know what he's thinking about. 

It was the day Titus found your little body in the snow, making the bed of white turn into red. But somehow you dragged yourself to the water to wash away the blood. You must have been eleven or just about to be, too young to think you know what death feels like. But there you were. 

Your right arm is numb. There's a medium sized glass shard lodged in between the skin. Every time you touch it to pull it out, it would bring life back into your nerves and they would scream in agony, forcing you down to your knees. Just one pull, one quick pull is all it takes. But it hurts too much. 

You look at your small round face in the water, sniffling and trying to keep the tears in. The sound of your angry howl rips through the silence, in your moment of blind rage, you attempt to yank the glass out but even then the pain is greater than your fury. 

You imagine then your skin growing around the piece of glass, and it'll either sink inside of you or become a part of your flesh. You don't want that. It'll hurt so much.

" _Howdy." You hear a familiar voice from behind you. You don't dare turn around and let Titus Hardie see you like this._

_"Fuck off! I don't wanna talk to you!"_

_It's silent for a moment but then you hear footsteps in the snow approaching. He kneels down next to you and tries to take a good look at you but your head is lowered and you have your knees close to touching your forehead. A small protective ball._

_"What's wrong?"_

_"Are you stupid? I said I don't wanna talk!" There are tears behind your words, you sniff and try to blink them away._

_He's stubborn and doesn't leave, instead, he sits down in the cold snow and waits for you to come out of your cocoon._

_He's patient..._

_And waits..._   
_And waits..._   
_And waits..._

_Until you can no longer stand the waiting. Your legs hurt from being in this position for too long and your arm still needs a remedy._

_You shift but turn your face away from him. As though that would keep him from seeing the piece of glass and the blood dripping down your arm._

_The older kid quickly hops to his feet in surprise and anger. "Who did that to you?"_

_You don't answer. You don't want Titus to get into trouble._

_"Does it hurt?" He knows it does because of course, it does. He's just trying to get you to say something. You hesitate but then you nod. He sits down again "Can I?"_

_Another few hesitant seconds and then another nod._

_"It'll be quick, promise."_

_He doesn't give time for your arm to register fully, his hand is on the shard and pulls it out instantly. The pain comes a few seconds after. The blood flowing down your arm now pours faster. He tosses the glass shard then takes off his jacket, pressing it against the gash in your shoulder._

_"Keep pressing. I'll get some water." He runs to the lake as you hold his jacket onto your wound and watch him as he takes off his wristband. It's thick enough for him to use as a substitute for a cloth so he wets it and then rushes back to you, pressing it against the cut in your shirt to clean the cut but it's not enough. "It's gonna be cold but can you take off your shirt?"_

_You shake your head furiously. After all the talks your father had with you about queers, you don't feel comfortable undressing in front of another man._

_"How are you gonna play Rugby then? You know they all walk around naked in the locker room."_

_You side glance him, still not wanting him to see your face. "Really?"_

_"Yep. I snuck into one once. They were allll butt naked."_

_The two of you chuckle._

_"Gross."_

_"Yeah, man. You should have seen their dicks."_

_You're more jealous of the fact that Titus actually went to a rugby game than him going into the locker rooms. You want to see the game instead of listening to it on the radio._

_"Can I go with you next time?"_

_"To the game? Sure. I don't go often but when I do, I'll make sure to tell my dad to get an extra ticket. He usually gets one for Tibbs anyway, my little brother, but Tibbs ain't about rugby. You can have his tickets."_

_"Really??"_

_"Yep. But," of course there's a catch. "You have to let me see your face and let me take care of that nasty cut, Alright?"_

_Oh._

_"I can't."_

_"Why not?"_

_"I just can't."_

_He grins but you don't see it. "Don't worry, I always think you look good."_

_Flattering but it still doesn't get you to lift your head._

_He scoots closer. "I'm your friend, Glen. You can trust me."_

_Friend. You've never had one of those before... So how do you know you can trust Titus just because he says you're friends?_

_He shrugs. "I guess you just have to follow your guts." He answers the question that you weren't even aware left your lips._

_Follow your guts? He shows up here every day to play with you and he's always been nice to you... So... maybe you can trust him. You finally show him your face, your bruised, bloodied, and beaten face. He looks shocked, you feel ashamed so you hide it again._

_"Did the other kids do this to you?"_

_"Fuck no!" They wouldn't dare. You're the feral child, they don't fuck with you._

_He is quiet for a while like he's thinking. It's a sensitive subject and he already knows you're defensive and jumpy. "Do you want to sleep over today?"_

_At that time, you haven't met the Hardies yet. You looked dreadful. Then again, you always look dreadful. Still, you didn't want them to see you like this._

_"I can't."_

_"Why? We can play in my room."_

_Your old man would be so fucking pissed if you didn't come home._

_"How many times do I gotta say I can't?!"_

_Another pause and then... "Glen? Does your daddy hurt you?"_

_You freeze and turn your head away even more. Titus is a bright kid, too fucking smart for you. You've just confirmed his suspicions._

_"That's why you never let me walk you home. Why you never invited me over. Why you always have to be home on time."_

_You can either nod or run away, the latter is very tempting._

_"He gets really angry..." you say, it's almost a whisper. "But I didn't do nothin'."_

_Your face is caged in Titus's bigger hands, he moves your head so you'd look at him, but he's gentle and doesn't force you to move along with him. "Stay over for the night, with me and my family. My mom is a really good cook. She and dad wanna meet the boy I sneak out to play with."_

_"If I don't go home---"_

_"I'll walk you home tomorrow. "_

_You shake your head furiously, your eyes are wide open in fear._

_"Trust me, okay? It'll be alright."_

His words are soothing, they calm you down. Eventually, you give in and agree to spend the night.

Safe to say when Titus walked you home the next day, he returned home with a souvenir of his first visit to the Dixon residence... The small scar on his jaw that he was currently still rubbing. Your father never really liked strangers, or you making friends.... or anyone coming over... or anything really. The two of you ran away that night and you didn't return home for a long time for the first time ever.

Looking back, you're surprised you made it through all of that shit. Titus promised you would, Hardie promise. He never breaks those.

Ever since that day, Titus wanted to protect you. You didn't know that. But he wanted to make sure you wouldn't end up like most abused kids... dead.

What made you different? You'll never know. You just got lucky maybe.

Regardless, here you are, almost two decades later, still kicking.

"Anyway," He finally stops. "It's all good for now. Would say don't go out lookin' for trouble but that seems to be our new thing. "

"Trouble finds us anyway."

"It sure does," He pats your shoulder. "Just try not to get shot next time."

"Sure thing, boss." You say it jokingly but he likes being called boss. Makes him feel important.

"You good to get up?"

"Of-fuckin'-course. Where we goin'?"

He stands up and grabs his jacket. "Lookin' for trouble."

And that's all the information you need to follow him to the end of the world.


	29. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

It was deep in the nighttime when a sudden knock on your door disturbs the silence in your cozy little shack. You're not expecting any visitors which could only mean one of three things; one, it's Titus here for a late night drink. Two, someone is here to mug you, or three, the wildlife has somehow learned how to knock and there's some sort of animal outside looking for shelter. 

You get up and wonder whether you should greet the mysterious visitor in your underwear or if you should get dressed. Being you, you of course went with the latter because you don't feel like turning the light on, finding something to wear, putting it on, and then opening the door. You do take your gun with you though, just in case. Not that the beer bottle in your hand isn't enough of a weapon but you can never be too careful. 

By the time you reach the door, your visitor has lost patience and has started knocking again. When you open the door, the man standing behind it is the person you least expect to see in the dead of night.

"If it ain't Tiberius Hardie," you put an arm against the door frame and lean forward to take a better look at the younger Hardie, his expression is indifferent and tells you nothing. "You don't come by here often," actually, he never visited you before unless it was to fix your windows. "What? Titus got himself in some shit?" 

"No," not this time at least. You take a sip of what remains of your beer bottle before moving away from the door, letting him in. He's glad to be away from the harsh cold outside. "Hope I didn't wake you up." 

"Nope. Wasn't sleepin'." 

Tibbs looks around at your moldy drug-littered little home, not really his sort of place. His brown eyes fall on the gun cabinet, it makes him somewhat uncomfortable. 

"They ain't loaded," You say, trying to put him at ease. He simply nods. "Is this about the window Titus broke? Or some bill I didn't pay?"

"No, nothin' like that."

"The fuck you here for then, Tibbs?" 

Suddenly his expression becomes serious. Now he looks more like a Hardie. "I have to talk to you about somethin' that's been buggin' me."

"Well?" You bring the beer bottle to your lips. "Spit it out then," And you take another drink. "There's beer in the fridge if you want some." He follows your finger to the fridge then shakes his head.

"It's okay. I won't be here for long."

"You here to fuckin' propose to me or somethin'? Just speak, man." 

You imagine Titus would be furious if you tried to bang his little brother. Not that you would. Tiberius is an alright fellow but he's not your type, with or without beer. There's nothing wrong with Tiberius, he's got the looks of a Hardie. He's not athletic, not like Titus is, but he's got the genes that make him look broad and tough. He's anything but tough though, Titus is peaceful, sure, but Tiberius? Wimp. And they all have those narrow sleepy eyes that you love to hate so much. They either look seductive or judgemental, no in-between.

"I'm worried about Titus."

Another swig of beer then you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. "why?"

"Whatever it is that you guys are doin' now? It's dangerous shit. And I know my brother is stubborn, he's a good man, but damn if he ain't stubborn. He's gonna go into this and he's gonna try to prove somethin' to himself. It's not gonna be good."

And he's here to tell you to talk some sense into Titus or something? You're the last person he should come to for that.

"We're gonna help people."

"And I don't doubt that. But I lost my ma and pa. I don't wanna lose my brother as well."

Oh...

"He's the only family I got left."

"Yeah," you try to sound sympathetic. "But Titus can look after himself. You don't gotta worry." 

His eyes travel down to your bandaged waist then back up at you. The look on his face is harsh. That could have been his brother, one day, it might be. And one day, luck may not be on your side.

"I always got the feelin' that Titus wanted me to be more like you, you know?" 

Well, that came out of nowhere and punched you right in the guts. 

More like you? What the fuck does that even mean? Unhinged? Fucked up? Sadistic? Why would Titus ever want his brother to be like you? 

"He spent all his time with you growin' up. Did everythin' with you. And I can understand why. I don't play sports, I don't like to hunt. There ain't much that he and I got in common." He shrugs. There isn't a hint of resentment nor sadness in his voice. He just says it as-a-matter-of-factly. 

You guess that when you were a child you never really thought about that, that maybe Tiberius felt like you were intruding. Some day his brother brings a stranger home and just starts hanging out with him day in and day out. Sure you included Tibbs in some of your activities, but that's not the problem. The problem is that you were always in the picture. 

This conversation is getting stressful and you don't really see the need to apologize, you've done nothing wrong after all. The best thing you can do right now to ease the awkwardness of it all is to find your pack of cigarettes.

You reach out and offer him a cigarette and he takes one out of the pack, you take the last remaining one and light them. 

He finally goes on, "I'm worried one day he's gonna expect me to be you," the young Hardie takes a long drag. "he's gonna expect me to take your place. And I can't. I ain't you. This life ain't for me."

"Don't be stupid, Tibbs. This sounds like a lot of bullshit to me. Titus loves you."

Of course it does, he's not you and you're not him. You don't know how he feels and you have no right to tell him it's bullshit if it's bothering him. 

"I know my brother loves me, Glen. Why else would he try to teach me how to shoot a gun. He really is his father's son," another long drag, like he's using every stretched pause to think. "Maybe a bit too much."

You shrug. "Your old man seemed like a good dad to me," Not like you know what a good father is like but you assume they don't beat their children half to death every night and starve them when they think they're bad. "Ain't nothin' wrong with learnin' how to defend yourself. Martinaise is dangerous."

You don't notice this but you're undermining his intelligence. Do you think he doesn't know that Martinaise is dangerous?

"Exactly. And the two of you always head straight for danger." 

He just wants you to say you'll look after Titus. That's all. He needs reassurance that he won't lose his brother. He came all this way just for reassurance. 

"My brother has spent his life lookin' after others. When my dad wasn't home, he had to look after us. When dad died, he had to look after us. Now it's just me and him," He looks up at you. "Not to mention you, he's looked after you since the day he dragged you to our place," he must have been eight or nine at the time, not that much younger than yourself. He remembers how broken you looked but he doesn't bring it up, he simply exhales a cloud of smoke. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that? But he loves you. "

Honest. You appreciate that. If he wasn't Titus's brother, you would have beaten him senseless and he knows that.

"I know I don't have to say this, the two of you would deck the devil for one another, but make sure he's alright. Okay?" A chuckle leaves his lips. "Stupid of me to ask you out of all people, if there's anyone who would go into trouble, guns blazin' and with a Molotov, it would be you. But aside from me, you're all he's got."

It sounds surreal to hear that, you don't believe that.

The young Hardie leans forward, putting out his cigarette on the ashtray. "Anyway, at the end of the day Titus Hardie will do what Titus Hardie wants, so of course I'm not here sayin' you should talk him out of somethin' he's gonna do anyway. I'm just askin' for you to make sure he comes home every night."

"Yeah, of course."

You can't make promises so don't promise him. You can barely look after yourself. It won't end well. Besides, you and Titus have been looking after one another for forever. Nothing is gonna change that so if he just wants to hear it then let him hear it.

"I appreciate all that Titus and y'all have done for me, and you know I would do anythin' for your brother. You don't have to tell me."

His expression softens for the first time since he's entered your shack. He's relieved.

"I know. Consider it a reminder."

"Consider me reminded then." You smile and he returns it with a grin.

"Anyway, I kept you from sleepin' long enough. I'll see myself out. But I'm sure I'll see you around soon," He heads for the door but as he reaches out to grab the handle, he pauses. "I remember the lake, when we were kids, you and Titus would carry me on your shoulders. Sometimes we'd go swimming or ride the boat. And sometimes we'd just watch the animals and play ball." He's musing. You look out the window at the trees, knowing that the lake is just beyond them. 

"You sucked at climbing trees." Always afraid, the little Hardie was. Even when he managed to get up after you and Titus pestered him enough, it ended up with a great fall. 

"Yeah. Now I climb them to fix windows. Funny how things work sometimes. Good night, Glen."

And he was gone. 

You remain frozen in your spot for a while, you only move when you finish your beer bottle. All sleep has gone out the window and you don't have time to get much sleep in anyway so it's a night of thinking for you. Putting some clothes on, you head outside. It's dark, but you know the road to the lake by heart. The sound of the waves guides you to the jetty where you sit by the old family boat. 

This rackety thing means so much to Titus that he does a lot to keep it maintained. Boats could live up to a hundred years. It'll outlive you regardless. You thought that one day you'll outgrow it, that you'll need a bigger boat, but even then you knew Titus wouldn't get rid of this one. There are too many memories tied to it, you know all the stories, all the tales behind every scratch. You're glad that there was a place for you among all of them. 

There were nights where this boat cradled you like a child in its embrace. You hid from the world and curled up in its space. 

This boat... It's a part of Martinaise, you think, it's a part of it as much as you are, as much as Titus is, as much as your team is. Titus wants to save Martinaise, you think it's a stretch. He's always been ambitious, but he's reaching for the sun. You know that... But you'll burn with him anyway... For this boat and what it represents to you and him, for home... You will burn.

* * *

"You think the Rhinos would join?" 

You grunt as you hold one end of a heavy loaded wooden box and carefully make your way into the ship, Titus is holding the other end but he's too deep in thought to really feel how heavy it is. 

"Don't know."

"I'm sure they'll love to have some fun."

Getting shot at and getting yourself in dumb situations because you decided to play hero? Sure. That sounds like a lot of fun. But Titus doesn't see it that way, he thinks about the glory. He always does. 

For you, it's about an excuse to be violent, to carry a gun and shoot someone, to beat someone senseless, all the beautiful gorey stuff that you enjoy, things that even Rugby can't give you. This is more intense, more bloody, more... Physical.

"I asked Tibbs of course. Told him it would be nice for him to spend some time with his big bro."

"Yeah?" You finally reach the other cargo and gently drop the box down next to the other boxes. Titus takes his list from under his arm and ticks the item off. 

"Yep. He very kindly told me to shove my offer up my ass and fuck off. Not to that extreme but he basically said that." 

"That's harsh, man."

"You know Tibbs. He's probably just worried. Besides, he wants to focus on starting his own family now, you know? His business is doin' well. He thinks it's time for him to settle."

"Settle? Really now?"

Titus chuckles. "Yeah. Can you imagine? That pipsqueak settlin' before we do."

Well, Tiberius did always have more of a hold on his life than the both of you. A clear goal, less fooling around, and a stable relationship. He doesn't get drunk (often) and hit on chicks for some momentary satisfaction. He's in it for the long run.

"Eh, settlin' ain't for us anyway,", he grins. "Ain't that right?" 

You nod. "right."

You wonder why Titus doesn't settle. He'd be a good dad, you think. A good husband too. He's got all those godly traits you wish you had...

Maybe he's waiting. 

Waiting? For?  
The right one?

Maybe he's waiting for you to come around. Imagine, you and Titus... Sharing a bed, a house, maybe you'll get a dog, live out the rest of your days together...

You can't help but burst into laughter at the thought. Titus gives you an odd yet concerned look. He's worried you're having one of your weird episodes. 

"Um... You alright?"

"Yeah. Just remembered somethin'."  
  
"You gonna share?"

You skip the last few steps of the ship's ladder and just jump down to land. "Nope." 

He doesn't push any further. Just shrugs and you simply go back to work. 

The sun sets, the ships leave the docks, and the last whistle indicates the end of another day. Your now yellow-ish tank top stinks of sweat. You would take it off and tie it around your waist along with the top half of your uniform (a dark red and orange colored top with orange pants... Orange and red... The colors of fury. They always seem to fit you just right.) But you don't want to be standing here in the cold without anything on. The frostbites would be terrible. Not like the tank top really helps much but it's better than nothing. You're either too hot or too cold. What a curse. 

"Well," Titus claps his hands together. "We got the rest of the day to ourselves. What will it be, bud?"

That translates to something completely different in your head. Usually, he chooses where to go and you just follow, that mostly being someplace to get drunk. 

You miss the arcade, wasting time on the pinball machine. Your liver misses the arcade too. 

But you're tired and you didn't get much sleep last night. Maybe you can just chill at your place. Swim, toss the ball like when you were younger. 

"Home."

"Home?"

"Yeah. We could get dinner on the way back. Play catch or somethin'."

He shrugs. "sure." 

Your bags are a heavy load on your aching shoulders but your body endures as it always does. The tread through the snow is tedious but your chats with Titus make it easier. The streets are silent and so when you hear the sound of music, it's like a siren, a beautiful, rhythmic, melodic siren. It calls you to its song. You and Titus can't fight the draw of it. It's not your typical aggressive rock music, it's a gentle strum of a guitar. You don't know anyone here that plays guitar, not this well anyway. 

The music leads you to a single dark-skinned man, sitting on a bench, tuning out his instrument. He doesn't seem to be dressed in a way that indicates that he's familiar with the harsh weather of Martinaise. You certainly don't remember seeing him around and you like to think you know everyone in Martinaise. 

You notice then, his guitar case, open for the world to see. There's change dumped into it. Titus adds to the pile. "Howdy." 

The man lifts his head and looks at the two of you, you can see his features more clearly how. He looks young but his green eyes hold years and years of experiences and journeys, stories that he turns into songs and shares with Elysium through the sound of his guitar. His hair is as dark as the night surrounding you, when you look at it you can only think of one thing... Disco. That's the best way you can describe it. He's lean but not lanky, there's some muscle to him but he's not as masculine as yourself or Titus, he sure isn't as tall either, despite being taller than the average man, you still tower over him. 

"Hey. Thanks, man." 

"Haven't seen you around before. You're not from Martinaise, are you?"

He returns his attention back to his guitar. "Nah. Just passing by." 

"You're pretty good. We don't got many musicians around here."

He nods. "I appreciate it," then swiftly adjusts the guitar and starts playing a few notes. A smile graces his lips. "But you haven't heard anything yet." He's confident when he speaks, and when he plays on his guitar, even the music sounds like a war song, it can lift up any spirit. Titus seems to be really enjoying it, he has a childish grin on his face and it seems like he's about to call you to dance any moment now... You both hope he does and doesn't. 

"Hey, my friend and I were just gonna grab somethin' to eat and a few beers. Wanna join in? Maybe we can give you a tour." 

He stops playing, looks down at his case, he seems to be thinking about something...

Rent, food... survival. It's too cold for him to stay outside. He travels a lot, he doesn't have much. 

"There's a hostel nearby. You can rent a room there," Titus says, as though he read the man's mind. "And since you're new here, dinner is on us. Just to show you how great Martinaise can be," he nudges you on the shoulder. "Right, Glen?" 

"Ugh... Yeah?" 

"Thanks," He gestures into the vast sea of endless snow. "Lead the way then."

And you do. 

"Titus Hardie, by the way." The older man reaches out to shake the musician's hand. 

"Eugene Antra." 

When he shakes your hand, you notice how rough it is, as though he's a worker just like you but that might just be from playing his guitar, those things are nastier than you know. "Glen Dixon." 

The hostel is as loud as always. Eugene seems to have taken an interest in the karaoke stand which was occupied by a lovely young lady, maybe in her late twenties, soothing the men with her angelic voice.

"You can throw a few gigs here. The hostel is gonna pay you."

He doesn't seem too interested in that proposal.

Who would be interested in playing for a bunch of drunks? Waste of talent. They wouldn't appreciate his music, and he respects his music. He prefers to play on the streets.

"What do you want to drink?" Titus hands him the menu, he looks at it for a while then hands it back to the taller man.

"Just milk."

The two of you look at him with shock. Milk?

"You sure? We're gettin' beers."

"Yeah. Just warm milk."

"You don't drink?"

"No."

You don't think you've ever met someone who doesn't drink. The hell did this guy come from?

"Alright. Warm milk it is."

Titus kind of admires that. He likes a bit of a change.

You make your order and grab a table which means tonight is gonna be one of those long nights where you act like an awkward third wheel while Titus tries to get to know some stranger because that's just who he is. An extrovert with a big heart. No one should feel like a stranger in Martinaise. You hate that about him sometimes, but you also admire it. It's charming, Titus is a charming person.

Damn him...

"So what do you do? You just travel?'

"Mostly."

"Why?"

"Inspiration."

You never left Martinaise, you can't imagine what the world outside is like. "What's Elysium like?" Curiosity gets the best of you.

"Haven't been all around Elysium," obviously. That requires a lot of funds. "But it's all just different shades of shit."

Titus chuckles. "I'll drink to that." He lifts his beer bottle and it makes as a clanging noise as it kisses yours.

"People talk about Jamrock like it's great, but it's one of the worst places I've ever been to. The cops, they're really something else. "

Titus snorts, no one here likes talking about cops. "Really? Can't say I'm shocked."

"Think there was a prison breakout just a bit after I left," He stares at his glass, fingers rhythmically tapping on it, making a beat like it's in his nature to. "I've seen so much police brutality," his soft voice becomes bitter. You understand his emotions, you're familiar with them; anger, hate, bitterness. "They can't be any different here."

Titus lights up. "You're in luck! In Martinaise, there are no pigs.''

He looks puzzled for a moment. "No pigs, huh?"

"Yep! In fact, Glen and I, and some other good folks, we do the protectin' around here," he waves his hands vaguely. "Unofficially but you know. As long as we keep people from gettin' hurt. We might as well be official. Who gets to dictate what's official anyway, right?"

This actually seems to interest the musician. "And how do you do that?"

"Well, you can say I got experience. Glen and I grew up in Martinaise. We know the people better than anyone. We know their struggles, their lives, what they go through. We all went through it. I was a boxer. Glen here is a fightin' machine. We get help from other folks, Dennis, he was a boxer too, and Theo. The old man was the one who suggested we do this thing. We're lookin' for more people. We spend most our time wanderin' 'round Martinaise. We know when there's trouble and who needs help. After a while, when we build a reputation, I'm sure it'll be the people comin' to find us for help."

"Hmm," Is all the other man says before taking a sip of his drink. He may not seem like it but he's impressed. A community run system. For the community and by the community, by people who understand the struggles of the citizens. That's actually really cool. "What are you hoping to get out of this?"

"Nothin'. We just do it 'cause someone's gotta. For a long time, people have been losin' their lives and everythin' they have, and they got no one to turn to," he looks at you. "Growin' up, there were times where we wished somebody was there to help us... we wanted someone to fight for us." To save you. Titus wishes he could have spared you the pain of your childhood trauma, but he also understands that they made you who you are, and what you are is a fighter, a survivor, a hunter. In Martinaise, you need to be broken to survive. Broken but strong.

Perhaps this is why he understands so well why people need one another in this community, because without him you would have surely been dead. Without you, he would be purposeless. Everybody needs someone, no matter how strong they are. The people of Martinaise have no one but each other.

Unity. The musician likes that. But for now, those are just ideas, words. You have to impress him. He is curious and wants to see how this goes.

"You should meet Theo. He's not much of a talker but he's great. Trust me."

Eugene has no reason to trust either of you. You just met. He's weary. Titus takes note of that.

This man must have seen some terrible shit on his journeys, but his eyes are not cold, not like yours. Perhaps he's optimistic. You wonder if that will change after his stay here, after he sees how the people here are forced to live. Would he then think the pigs are cruel but the world is better with them? You can't imagine that. Then again, this life is all you've ever known. This lawless, pigless life, where it no longer shocks anyone to see dead children overdosing or bleeding out on the snow. All of them are desperate for some better life but have no means to achieve it. All of them suffered. All of them are in pain.

You're nothing special.

"He does that sometimes, don't worry." You hear Titus say and you blink, realizing he must have called you or something but you were too lost in your thoughts to notice.

How many times have you disconnected mid-conversation with Titus? With anyone? Titus has adapted to it, this stranger? He doesn't seem to think it's that odd. Maybe he's met others like you before.

"Anyway, you can find us at the docks. We'll take you there."

"I've actually seen the docks already." The docks are big, hard to miss them really.

"Glen and I work there, Dennis and Theo too. Well, Glen and I work there when we're not playin' rugby."

"Do you play professionally?"

"Yeah. For the Martinaise Rhinos."

"How come you never left Martinaise then? If you play Rugby?"

Titus shrugs. "Local team. We have most of our matches here. I guess we never got a reason to play outside."

Weird.

You never thought of that before really.

"And the docks. Must be important. Seems like half the people here work for the docks."

"Lots of people here need jobs. The docks always have a spot open. You can sign up too. People over there could always use the moral support."

If he decides to stay long enough. Besides, he doesn't really look like the 'lift heavy shit' type. But hey, maybe drinking all this milk instead of beer made his bones as strong as steel. Never judge a book by its cover. If Shanky can do it (despite heavy complaining) then you're sure this guy has something to offer.

He simply nods as a response. Not a yes... but not a no either. It's more of an in-between. "Thanks for the drink and dinner. I should check if there's a room available."

"Already taken care of, man. Booked for the next three days."

You and him split the pay for everything; the food, the drinks, the room. The two of you aren't sitting on a pile of money that you can just spend willy-nilly, but eh, it's not like you were going to spend this money on rent. It was just gonna go towards even more beer.

"I---" He can't help but smile at your generosity, a genuine wide smile. "Thank you, really. I hope I can repay you one day, man."

Titus shrugs. "I just told you. We don't do it to get anythin' in return."

Though getting something in return would be nice. Again, this is the difference between you and Titus Hardie. He's good because that's just who he is. You're good because you don't want to disappoint him, which means you're not really good at all, you just pretend to be.

"Titus Hardie, right?"

"Yep!"

He'll remember that name for a long time. Perhaps even forever. He's a stranger in every town and city he's been to. Maybe he was never shown this sort of kindness. It means a lot to him.

"If it's alright I'd like to go rest now."

Understandable. His journeys must be tiring... and long.

"Sure. Maybe we'll see you tomorrow?"

"Maybe."

Titus grins. "Stick around. Martinaise doesn't look like much but it's got tons to offer."

He's considering it.

The air outside is cold and chilling, however, the turtleneck of your uniform suffocates you. You try to loosen it but, well, you have a pretty thick neck.

"Seems like a nice guy."

"Yeah."

He looks at you struggling with your turtleneck. "Why don't you just unzip it?"

"I'm about to rip it off."

He chuckles. Of course you would. "Always eager to take your anger out on somethin'." He stops causing you to stop as well. Then he turns towards you and tugs on the zipper, freeing your neck. You slap his hand.

"Knock it off. I can do it."

You haven't seen that playful grin on his face in a while, you have a feeling that he only looks that way at you, when he wants to tempt you, piss you off. He reaches for the zipper again, you swat his hand. There's a gentle push and shove that ends with him immobilizing you in his grip.

"Get off" You sound aggressive but your smile says otherwise.

"Make me."

It's too late in the night for one of your squabbles but you fight regardless. You can't deny that you like the tension your little fights carry. The high they provide, it's nothing like drugs, nothing like alcohol.

A part of you tells you he knows this too. You can't bring yourself to hate him, but it angers you that he does that, it angers you but you love it. When you pin him down to the snowy ground and watch him try to turn the tables. You roll on the snow, laughing like idiots. It angers you so much that he knows what he does to you and still... he plays with your demons. Still... he teases you, and you fall for it every time.

You lie with him on the floor every time, you laugh every time... and you resist the urge to kiss him every time.

"Oh, man. Just what I needed after a long day." He says, looking up at the sky.

When his eyes meet yours, you feel weak. No matter what you do, you're always too weak. You can't fight the storm inside of you, a storm he waged.

You want to punch him, beat him up so badly for every time he's made your heart skip a beat. You don't even recognize the words that swim in your mind. You never knew you were capable of feeling such intense emotions, and yet, they all burn into anger. Always anger. You're angry because you love him, angry at the thought he might just love you back, angry at your emotions, angry at your heart for being so twisted, so vile, so weak. Anger, anger, anger.

The cold snow can't calm you down. It melts in your ire.

If you could, you would wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze, until you could no longer feel anger.

Fuck, you hate that. You hate thinking like that.

What would he say if you told him?

"Glen?"

"Yeah?"

"What happens when you...You know."

You don't know. "When I what?"

He gestures vaguely. "When you blackout like that."

You did it again. You really need to get your shit together.

"Nothin'." Everything all at once.

"Feels like you just disappear," he pauses, you have no response so he goes on. "Where do you go?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Or you won't tell me?"

You don't know the answer to that either.

"It's really hard to talk to you when you shut me out like that," Another long pause. It's hard for you to find something to say, yet, there's so much you can tell him. "We've been friends for all our lives, man. We ate from the same plate, bathed in the same tub, wore each other's clothes, shared a bed. We smoked the same cigarette, drank from the same beer bottle. There's nothin' you can say that's gonna make me think any differently of you. Fuck, dude, I watched you put a bullet through someone's head, I saw you tear through your old man like a savage animal, and bash some asshole's head in. After all that, you really think there's something that's gonna make me run?"

What can you say? How do you even begin to say it?

"I don't know, I just--- I just think, I guess."

"About what?"

"Things..." Dark things sometimes, violent things most the time. "And it..." scares you sometimes. "I'm just not alright in the head."

He smiles. "Don't you think I haven't noticed that already? Tell me somethin' new."

"That's all there's to it. I'm just fuckin' nuts. I have weird fucked up thoughts."

"Yeah? Do they involve me?"

F. U.C.K

"Sometimes."

He laughs, not to mock you or anything. He's just finding this all to be very amusing. "So like what? You fantasize about murderin' me or somethin'?"

"No. Nothin' like that," not technically anyway. You want him to understand that these are just thoughts. "I would never hurt you, T."

"I know." He seems too confident about that.

"I just feel," angry. That's the only word. "Angry."

"At me?"

"No. At... I don't know. Everythin'?"

"So you think about beatin' people up. Including me. Makes sense." Actually, it clears up a lot of things for him. He feels like he just discovered something valuable. "I knew you were sadistic but kinky too?" He says it jokingly but it hits close to home.

"I wouldn't--- I don't..." ugh, why are words so hard to say? He offers you a smoke. Thank god. You really need one right now. It helps you clear up the fog in your head a bit. "I don't hurt people."

"Sexually? Maybe. But you do hurt a lot of people physically. When you start throwin' punches. It's really hard to get you to stop. Sometimes I think back on our fights, you know, the really aggressive ones."

You feel a great sense of shame wash over you when you think about them, about how you felt at the moment when you had Titus pinned beneath you, your fists raining down on him, showing no signs of mercy. You felt... free. Free because you were no longer a slave to your feelings for him. You were above them. You were bringing a titan down to his knees. You felt in control. You felt powerful.

"Sometimes, it feels like you're not even there anymore. At that time, I don't feel bad for kickin' your ass."

It becomes self defense.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "Why? I'm not upset."

"If I've ever hurt you. I'm not that kind of person. I'm not like..."

"You're not."

"I try not to be but---"

"You're not." he says again.

"But it feels good... sometimes."

"So what? It's just your messed up kink."

"When we were just tossin' about, I thought..."

He sits up to take a better look at you, to study your expression as you go through the stages of your thoughts. "Thought?"

You look at your hands and put them up to the air, Titus is in the frame just behind it, then you close your fingers around the ghost of his neck. "About choking you."

"Hmm," He scratches his cheek. "I see."

"Does that scare you?"

He shrugs. "Nah. Why would it?"

"Why would it not?"

"You just said you wouldn't hurt me." Again, he trusts you too much. Trusts that you won't act on your fantasies. "Not without my consent anyway."

"It wasn't---" You sigh. God damn it, just use fucking words! "It wasn't sexual. It just helps when I feel angry."

"But you do get aroused by that sort of shit sometimes."

Damn, this is so fucking awkward. "I... I guess."

"So you're still figurin' it out. No worries. Everybody's for their kinks."

Another shrug.

... You wonder what he's into.

"What um... What about you?"

You think it's only fair for him to get naked too. He stripped you down, now it's his turn.

He thinks for a while. "Well, I haven't choked anyone in bed. I think it depends."

"Depends?"

"On who I'm fuckin'. Some folks like it hard and rough, some prefer to take it slow."

Talking about sex, it's nothing new to you. You talk about sex a lot. Just not like this, not on this intimate level. It's awkward, yeah. But you're discovering things about your best friend that you've never known before and vice versa.

"What do you prefer?"

"If I'm fuckin' you?" He grins. "Well, we did fuck. Then again, that was a first time thing so we had to take things slow."

You pinch his arm. "I mean generally, asshole."

"Both."

"Both?"

"Both. Sometimes you need to go in hard, sometimes it's nice just to take things slow."

You nod. Take notes, bud. You might just need this information later. No, I'm not foreshadowing anything even though when I say that now it makes it sound like I am.... I'm not. Listen, I'm not. The more I say I'm not the more it sounds like I'm foreshadowing, right? So... I'll just shut up now. Oh look, Titus is talking!

"Well, that was an interestin' talk. See what happens when you open up?"

You put out your cigarettes in the snow and bury them. "Hey, T?"

"What's up?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

You're not sure. "Everythin', I guess."

"It's nothin'," he gets up and brushes the snow off his clothes. "Best get some rest. Night, Glen."

He waves, you feel like it's too early for him to leave. The darkness of the night disagrees. But what's the dark to you if that means you get to spend just a little more time with him?

"T?"

He stops.

"Do you wanna stay the night?"

He grins. You don't need to tell him anything else. "Sure."


	30. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW and shit. You know the drill

**Chapter 28**

You tug on the rope in your hands, it's sturdy and worthy of your trust. You've stolen it from the docks, "stolen" as though the big man up in his office doesn't hear and see everything. But you like to think you've taken it for a good purpose.

Your eyes don't fall on your prey, you simply grab his masculine wrists, for a moment you can feel the veins running across his arm and it holds your attention. You press on his wrist and feel his heartbeat, drumming in excitement. You would lie if you said you weren't feeling eager as well.

Don't lose yourself. Ask if you can go on.

You pull on the rope again, it's still strong and then you take the slightly smaller hands and tie them to the bed. The man beneath you doesn't protest. Actually, he smirks. "kinky."

You tie his legs as well, you tie them upwards so he's left helpless and exposed to you, like an animal. You should ask if he's comfortable. 

There's a piece of cloth on the nightstand that you use to blind him, tying it around his eyes. You don't have to see him, he doesn't have to see you. It's better that way... For you. 

You've created a masterpiece. 

You would marvel at it for a while longer but your prey is getting impatient. 

You should have a safe word. 

"What's somethin' you'd never say during sex?"

"What?"

You don't like repeating yourself. "A word. Somethin' you'd never say durin' sex."

"Ugh.. " the man thinks for a while. "I don't know. Tuna?" 

That's such a turn off. Perfect. 

"Shout Tuna if you want me to stop then."

"Okay?" 

With that out of the way, now the fun starts. 

You take a few more seconds to admire your handy work before leaning down, the shape of the man beneath you fits you perfectly. You start from his neck, your tongue draws a line over his skin and he tilts his head to give you more space. Your teeth crave a taste, so you close your mouth around the flesh and bite down, at first you're gentle, but with no protests from the man, you begin to bite harder, harder, and harder until you feel him shiver. A wince escapes him.

You keep going until the skin turns purple under the firm grip of your jaw, you're about to break him... But you stop. When you release him, you feel his body ease up. 

"Shit, man. You don't fuck around."

You haven't even started yet. This was just the first bite. 

Your tongue soothes the flaming red skin, then you travel down to his shoulder. Another bite. His body tenses again, his fingers curl into fists and he pulls on the ropes. They do not release him. 

A part of you hopes he can withstand more... So much more. The first guy you tried this with fled when he saw the rope, the second stopped after a few hits. They don't satisfy you. You need more. 

As you go lower, your nose is tickled by the man's chest hair. You bring your hand to one of his nipples and you rub it, while your mouth covers the second. Your thumb toys with the skin, going back and forth, fingers pinching gently until the man arches his back slightly. "Yeah..." It's such a simple word but he repeats it and you feel encouraged to go further. Pinching turns into twisting, and licking turns into biting. 

His toes curl. He aches to hold you and place his hands on the back of your head but he's not allowed such peace. 

His soft moans turn to low gasps and yelps as you increase the roughness of your movements. You bite harder, you twist and pull... Then you stop and release his nipples. 

You take a moment to watch, to see him panting, to see his arousal pressed against his stomach, begging for your attention. 

There's still a lot to do before you get there. 

Inside your nightstand (and next to it) there are a few... Let's call them... Toys. These include a sturdy wooden stick, your knife, your gun, a razor, and a few other fun objects. You start with the stick and grab it from next to your nightstand. 

The air is split into two when you whack it against the wood, the sound makes the man jump a bit. 

"What's that?"

You answer by dragging the stick over his body letting the tip of it tease the skin, down his chest, and to his stomach, you circle his navel, trace his cock, an almost pathetic whimper trembles on his lips.

You bring the stick down to his ass. It's firm. When you hit it, it instantly turns red, the stick leaves a mark behind. Your prey gasps in surprise. That felt good... Really good. So you want the next hit to be harder. 

You hit his other cheek, he gasps again, this time louder. "Fuck!" His breaths are short, sharply inhaled, and exhaled. It hurts him but he doesn't tell you to stop. 

So you hit him again, and again, and again, until his ass is completely red, then you lean down between his parted legs and you kiss the beaten skin. It calms him down. You leave the stick and opt to enjoy the feeling of his pain with your own two hands, brushing your fingers over the red lines, following them with your lips and your tongue until the man's breathing evens out.

"Oh, fuck..." 

You'll get there when you get there. You still have a few fun toys you want to play with first. 

You grab the stick again and draw lines over his chest. The wood rubs his still wet nipple and then slaps him hard, he almost jumps, well, as much as the rope allows him to. He bends his body and tries to move to his side, just for a moment to get away from the brutal nature of your acts.

The beating continues until you're bored and want to move on to something else. By then, his entire body is red.

Your prey has been good. You should give him a little treat. Your fingers dance on his body, when you bring your hand to his cock, it's already leaking precum. Maybe he's enjoying this after all. You use the precum as lube for now and close your fist around his length, stroking it slowly. His expression is blissful. His tongue darts out to wet his dry lips and again he tugs on the ropes to no avail. He won't be able to grab you by the hair and face fuck you. You wouldn't allow that but he's imagining it and it's making him even more aroused.

"If you're that rough before we even fuck then I'm looking forward to feeling you inside of me." 

Your cock agrees. It really wants to be inside of him right now. His asshole is right there, waiting, pulsating... Eager to be filled. 

With your free hand, you rub the pink flesh of his entrance and find a rhythm between teasing him and jerking him off. It doesn't take too long for him to start grinding against you.

"Come on, you fucking cock tease. Fuck me!"

You stop. He lets out a frustrated sound. Your hand meets the side of his face, the sound of the slap echoes in the room. You're in charge here. He doesn't get to tell you what to do. Your fingers close around his throat and you squeeze slightly. You can feel his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows. 

"Next time it'll be the stick. Do you understand?"

He nods weakly. It doesn't satisfy you so you tighten your grip. 

"I said do you understand?"

"Yes."

You release him. 

"You be good and you'll get my dick. Got it?"

"Yes," he nods again, this time eagerly. "I'll be good."

"Good boy."

Maybe now is a good time to remind him that you can stop at any time. All he has to do is say Tuna. 

You're tempted to remove his blindfold, just to see if he'd look at you with fear. Maybe you'll even relish that. 

Anyway, you fish your nightstand for the next toy, that being your trusty pocket knife. Little thing... It could do so much damage. So much irreversible damage. 

You let him feel the blade against his cheek and you wait, looking for any sign of discomfort. You can feel his breathing become faster, but he opens his mouth wide and turns his head carefully towards the blade until it's in his mouth. His tongue dances around it carefully. You find the sight... Exciting. Your cock twitches. 

You could cut his lips open, mutilate him as you've done to your old man. 

No, you shouldn't think about that right now. Stay focused. 

Carefully, you move the knife away from his mouth and make a small cut on his cheek, the skin splits open so easily, you watch the wound turn red with blood and find it very amusing. It tastes like metal when you kiss it. He turns his head and tries to find your lips. You allow him to kiss you only for you to spit into his mouth. If he wanted a taste then he got it. 

He retaliates and bites your lower lip hard, drawing blood from it. That earns him another slap and you slam the back of his head against the wall before diving in for another kiss. It's messy, all teeth and tongue, all lust and no love. He grinds his body against you, desperate for contact. His cock rubs against yours and he moans between your lips. 

If he wants your cock so bad, you'll give it to him. 

You shift, propping yourself up on one knee and using your hand to force his mouth open, digging your fingers into his jaw to keep it that way, then you shove your cock between his lips, all the way down until it slams against the back of his throat. 

Your free hand wraps around his neck, as you roll your hips, you feel your cock going in and out of his mouth and fill his throat. He gurgles and tries to find an even pace between sucking and licking while also trying to breathe. 

"You want my cock so bad, huh?" Your voice is low and harsh. He can't respond of course since your dick is buried down his throat. You feel his muscles tighten as he gags and coughs, spit escapes his mouth. He can't do anything to pull you back. He's at your mercy. 

When you finally start feeling bad for the guy, you pull back, your cock is dripping with spit. His lips are red and puffy. He looks better this way... So you give him time to regain his breath, before pushing your cock inside his mouth again, thrusting in and out in fast rabid motions. His teeth trace your skin, his tongue dances along your veins. It feels so good you could just fuck him until you shoot your load down his throat. 

"That's it." You say encouragingly. He can only hum in response. "You keep bein' this good and I'll fuck your tight hole just as hard." You follow that up with a gentle slap to his face. 

He's desperate for it. He wants it. Needs it so badly. His desperation is sweet to you. It makes you feel like you're truly in charge. 

Your cock slips out from his abused lips with a wet pop, he licks them to taste you then he keeps his mouth open, it makes you chuckle so you bring your hand to the base of your cock and let it press against his face.

"I'm not done playin' with you yet." 

You pull back and grab your knife again, and without warning, you shove the blade into the man's shoulder, making him scream out in pain. It makes you smile in satisfaction. 

Easy, you want to have fun with him, not kill him. 

The knife comes out with ease and leaves behind it a trail of blood. You bring the blade to your lips and clean it with your tongue. The blood tastes so sweet and feeds your sadistic hunger. The man beneath you is left whimpering. You lean down and kiss the space next to the bleeding stab wound, slowly making your way to the center, it distracts him but doesn't take away the pain. 

He can tell you to stop. Remind him.

There's a box of bandaids in your lower drawer, you grab one and peel it open. It's wise to clean the cut before you put that thing on but eh. 

"We can stop. Just say the word."

He shakes his head. His lust outweighs his fears. You've shown him the beauty in hell. He wants to see it through. 

You're happy with that choice. 

The knife drags across his thigh and then digs slightly into the red skin of his ass. The sharp tip becomes acquainted with his flesh, red on red, bruises and blood. Another cut. Then you do the same to his other cheek. 

You move the knife swiftly like an artist with his brush. A few lines here and there and you're adding to your masterpiece.

The next thing you fish for is your pack of cigarettes. You light one and put it between your lips. It helps you think, helps you work. 

Bringing the knife back up, you spend a good amount of time teasing his cock with the tip, tracing the veins that lead up and down his throbbing manhood. It makes his toes curl. 

"Please..."

It's a soft whisper but it catches you off guard in the best way possible. 

"What?"

"Please." He says again, all dignity is thrown out the window. 

You're not sure what he's begging for. Contact? For you to stop? But it feels good to hear him beg regardless.

"Please what?"

"Just do me, alright? Please."

Huh. You didn't expect him to break this fast. You're kind of disappointed by that. It was going so well too. Oh well...he's been a good boy. 

You clean the knife on your bedsheet before closing it and putting it back inside the nightstand drawer, after that you grab a bottle of lube and squeeze some into your fingers then you bring your hand to his entrance, rubbing circles around it before pushing the tip of one finger in. His walls welcome you, hugging and pulsating around you. 

First knuckle. 

His expression is blissful. His fingers are wrapped into a tight ball, making them turn white. You exhale the smoke from your cigarette and watch him carefully.

Second finger. 

He squirms a bit, not out of discomfort but out of need. To know someone is this fucking needy for you... That's a nice high. 

Inhale, the ashes from your cigarette fall on his body and on the sheets of the bed, but neither of you are bothered. 

You shift so you can grab a fist full of his ass while you push your fingers in deeper. There's a mix of pain and pleasure, having the cuts on his ass squeezed causes a stinging sensation that's overwhelmed by you thrusting your fingers in and out of him. His hands and legs are useless, all he can do is just submit to you. 

Leaning down, you kiss the cuts on his thighs, gentleness followed by roughness. You bite him and he gasps. He kicks his foot but the ropes clutch on tightly. 

You focus only on pleasuring him now, a faster way to break him. You hold him down by his waist and fuck him with your fingers until he almost screams. Your fingers part and twist and stretch him. You don't allow him to fuck himself on the digits inside him. "Good, huh?" Your smoke heavy voice adds to the weight on his stomach. You wonder if you can make him cum before you even fuck him.

Your teeth dig into the butt of the cigarette to keep it from falling as you maneuver around, pushing yourself against him, lifting his leg even higher up. There's little time for him to process the time before in and out, as you stab his walls with your fingers and then finally add a third one. Now he's whimpering and weeping. Beautiful. 

You want to see his tear filled eyes, but you only imagine them behind the blindfolds. His lips tremble and he cuts into his own hand but doesn't even seem to notice. "Fuck yeah!" Are the only words leaving his lips over and over again. 

He's close, you can feel it. So you take him to the very edge and then you pull your fingers out, leaving him to cry out in frustration. 

"Why?!"

Because you're a sadistic asshole and this brings you pleasure. 

You wipe your fingers on the bedsheet and use your other hand to take the cigarette out of your mouth, finally tapping the ash that's been accumulating off onto the body below you before putting it back between your lips. Your fingers go back in as well, and this time you match the rhythm of your thrusts with stroking his cock. 

He moans and thrashes and does whatever he can just for more contact. 

Again, you bring him to the edge then stop. His body shivers, you can feel the entirety of it quiver beneath you and beneath the blindfold, two stray tears stain his cheeks. 

He wants release so badly. You've tortured him enough. 

You'll give him what he wants, but first, you want to watch him cry for a while longer. 

He's too out of breath to even cuss you out. Poor thing. 

You put your cigarette out on the ashtray on the nightstand and then lube up your manhood. The tip teases his entrance, hovering just over it. Barely pressing in. 

"Please, please, please. Just fuck me already you fucking fuck!" 

"You want it that bad, ay?" 

He's crying for it. What more do you want from him? 

"Yes! Put it in and fuck me!"

Pity makes you push the tip in but you don't go further. He squirms again. More, needy for more.

You shift once more and tower over him, hand wrapping around his throat as you slowly push in... And then shove all at once. You don't waste time in going slow but immediately begin pounding into him. His moans encourage you. He's too far gone to care about how pathetic he sounds, too far gone to care about you tightening your grip on his throat, too far gone to care about the sting on his cheek when you slap him. He's completely yours. You're in control. 

"You like that, huh?" 

"So fucking much! Fuck!" You have no idea how much he wishes he could dig his nails into your back right now. Pull you closer. 

With every thrust, every push deeper inside of him, every time your cock fills him up, he feels every nerve in his body burning. The tightness in his stomach becomes almost unbearable and all he could do is beg and plead for you. 

Faster  
Harder 

"Don't stop!"

Every word repeats a thousand times against your palm as his vocal cords vibrate, then finally, you cut off his air and he starts choking. Titus was right. This is some sick, fucked up kink...

Titus... How you wish this could be him right now. You can't help but imagine the body beneath you being his; every scar, every beautiful line that makes him. To hear him moan and gasp as you squeeze the life out of him. Fuck... It's so messed up but you love it. Shame mixes in with your excitement. Just focus on the man under you. 

Your other hand joins the first, your mind clears for a minute, yet you don't let go. Suddenly the man is thrashing and trying to get you off him, his hands flail helplessly but the ropes don't let him go. His legs spasm and jerk, you can see him heaving. He's desperate... but soon he calms down, and just before he's unconscious, you release him. 

You haven't even noticed that he already came. White lines decorate his chest and stomach. You pull out and with a few strokes, you shoot strings of cum over his hole and inner thighs. 

The high leaves you exhausted afterward. You undo the ropes and release him. He just lies there. For a moment you're worried you've killed him but the steady rise and fall of his chest comforts you. 

One day you might not stop. 

You take off his blindfolds and notice that he's looking at you, eyes tired and heavy. 

"You dead?"

He blinks. It's all that he can manage right now. Anyway, it's a sign of life so good enough for you.

You get up and try to find your clothes in the mess that you call your room. A hot shower sounds really good right now so you leave the man to recover and go to get cleaned. 

You're afraid how badly you'll ache more of this. How far it could go. What if you can't stop yourself next time? What if you had one of those fadeouts and the next thing you know you just killed someone? 

Maybe that's the fun part about it... Knowing how far you'll go. 

The shower does little to bring you the answers you desire but when you return to your room, you find the man still lying on your bed, perhaps he had fallen asleep. 

You walk up to him and he looks at you, smiling. "Fuck, man. I don't think I've ever blown a load this big before. You're something else."

Yeah, well, you don't get tied up and choked half to death during sex every day.

Usually, at this point, you'll kick them out and never see them again. But instead, you sit down on the bed and offer the man a smoke. 

"We should do this again sometimes." 

"You gonna pussy out when I bring out the big knife?"

"No. Just need time to get used to it that's all." 

You don't like having regulars. You fuck them once and that's it. But, eh. Might as well have him as a backup in case the next person you try this with ends up being a little bitch who quits after the first slash. 

That night you sleep like a fucking log, not even a storm outside could wake you up. 

Maybe it's not so bad after all.

* * *

Orange... You've never seen the sky this orange before and you don't have time to admire it nor the fire that's eating up one of the residential buildings as you run behind Titus and into the jaws of danger. It would be wise to tie your hair up right now so it doesn't catch on fire. Just a bit of friendly advice. 

You tuck your hair under your beanie which you shouldn't even be wearing in this god damn heat and follow the screams of people calling for help. 

You find a woman stuck under some debris. "It's alright, ma'am. We have people puttin' out the fire. You'll be alright." Theo and Shanky. You're a little concerned about Shanky, the asshole might just blow this whole place up at any moment so best get moving. 

The two of you work together to pull the debris off the poor trapped woman. Your gloves do little to make the heat feel any less powerful and scorching. Be quick. 

The woman gets up. She knows her way to the exit. 

"How many people are trapped in here?" Titus asks before she leaves. 

"I'm not sure. I think I heard a child," shit. "They might have passed out." Or she might have been delirious in her state of panic. Regardless, she's glad to be alive and runs out to safety. 

You hear the creaking of pipes about to combust and the foundation of the building cracking beneath you. A reminder that you should hurry. No time to think about your next move. Just go. 

The hallways are long, Titus takes the right side, you take the left. Breaking doors down by kicking them until they give out. "Nothin'." Titus yells from inside one of the apartments.

The kid is probably scared... Hiding  
  
Where did you hide when you wanted to run away from IT? 

Locked yourself in the bathroom... Hid under the bed. Inside the closet (oh man, I can make a joke about how you're still in that closet... You never left. Perhaps one day. Now is not the time.) 

"Hello? We're here to help!" Hardie calls out but the only response was the rumbles from the roof. It's getting hard to breathe. The heat has made your entire body extremely sweaty but it does little to cool you down. You hear Titus coughing in the next room.

The fire crackles next to your ear like it could just reach out and consume you at any time. A loud crash alerts you. It sounds too close. 

"Fuck." 

You run outside. The room Titus was in is now blocked by burning wreckage. 

"Don't worry about me. I'll find some other way out. Find the kid and let's get out of here before this whole fuckin' thing collapses." 

You hesitate. Leaving Titus here to save some kid that might not even be here? You can't. 

"Go, Glen! Now!"

He's not asking. It's an order, soldier. Move it. 

But your body refuses. It felt like, at that moment, that you were a robot, and your program had one order... Protect Titus. He doesn't wait around for you though, he's already off trying to find a way out of the room. 

You're wasting precious time.

Despite what your program tells you, your legs carry you to the next room. You search inside cabinets and under beds, inside bathrooms, behind shower curtains. You yell out but only the fire responds. Sharp flaming claws reach out to grab you. The smoke is suffocating and fills your lungs. This is like smoking 700 packs of cigarettes all at once. You can do nothing but cough and keep going.

There's no way up. The stairs are blocked "Kid!" You yell out. No response.

"Glen!"

Titus! You race back to your best friend, still trapped in the room. You can probably break through the debris... you might suffer severe burns but if that's the only way out and Titus needs an escape... you'll do it.

Then you hear the sound of soft childish coughing. Titus had tried to keep the fire under control in the room, the child with him was wrapped in his jacket that had been soaked in water.

"Just take the kid."

"Shut up."

"Glen, this ain't no time to---"

"Shut the fuck up," You can't hear yourself think. The smoke is making it hard, his voice is making it even harder. "Back up"

"What?"

"Back up!"

He does. You take your jacket off and use it as a protective layer. God damn, this is gonna hurt. You ram into the debris, the fire sticks to the fabric and eats at it. You're worried you won't have time before the fire reaches you but you ram against the debris again and it finally gives out.

Titus keeps the child safe in his embrace, you ditch your favorite jacket and run out of the building. It's over. Your shoulder hurts badly but it's over. You're so thankful for the fresh air, coughing and wheezing until the smoke leaves your lungs. Freedom, oh how sweet.

Your jacket... That's the greatest loss of today. It has gone out for a great cause but... It was so special to you. 

"That was some crazy shit you did there," Titus puts his hand on your shoulder. "Thanks."

The simple touch causes your shoulders to scream in agony. A sharp hiss escapes your lips and you move away from his touch. Your shoulder... The fire might have gotten a piece of you after all. 

"You alright?" 

"Yeah. Just some soreness."

You don't even pay attention to the people around you, cheering and shouting for you. The moment is hard to enjoy when you feel like your skin might come off if you touch it. You need something cool to put on it, ASAP. 

There's literally snow everywhere. Just walk away from this burning building and grab a hand full of snow. 

You manage to slip away as the crowd circles around Titus and you make it home. The snow tempts you along the way. The fabric you wear embraces you, bits of thin threads feel like they've melted into your wound. Your tank top is ruined, somehow though your beanie managed to make it out just fine. 

Stripping down in front of your mirror, you watch the payoff of your heroic act. Your shoulder is fucked, deep red spots decorate it, some of them are bubbly. It looks disgusting. You grab an ice pack from your fridge and place it over the burn marks...

What are a few extra scars?

You're already full of them. 

You stare at your shattered reflection in the mirror from where you sit. Your giant body feels so fragile. Look at you... So broken. 

What a hideous thing. 

When did your blue eyes become so dull? 

You should be happy. You did a great thing today. You should be bathing in fucking glory. The people love you. 

So why do you hate your reflection so much?

You should get some rest. Your brain is no good to you like this. (not that it usually is)

* * *

"Boy howdy, we got the district talkin'!" Titus seems excited, you're happy he can be optimistic enough for the both of you because his grin is contagious. 

"Yeah. We're heroes now." You don't feel like one. You just feel like your usual shitty self but hey, fake it till you make it, baby!

"Theo seems pretty happy. We kept casualties to a minimum, we managed to get in and out, no problemo." Except for your fucked up shoulder which is REALLY hurting now. Work is unkind to you but there's no use bitching about it. Not very macho manly. 

He lifts his head and gives you a look. Those fucking narrow eyes look so judgmental when he's not smiling. It seems like he's studying you, for whatever reason. Maybe your face looked intense for a moment, maybe you let out a sigh of pain without noticing. Whatever it was, he's on to you like a hawk. 

"What?"

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You seem a bit off."

"Tch. Nah. I'm fine. Feelin' like a motherfuckin' superstar."

He's silent for a moment then grins. "Well, you are a superstar, Mr. Prop." 

That gives you a confidence boost but you still feel like shit. 

"Anyway, should pick this up before I get another warning notice." 

Work as usual. You'll ache when you're back home.

"Titus, right?" 

You look over your shoulder at the familiar soft-spoken voice. The dark-skinned musician stands there with his guitar on his back. Titus looks happy to see him. 

"Howdy." 

"I saw what you did yesterday. That was worthy of an epic."

He chuckles. "You can start writin' songs about us then. But really Glen did most the heavy liftin'. Man, you should've seen 'em. Smashed right through danger."

Brainless bravery, he thinks. It's idiotic but sometimes you need it. A part of him admires that. 

"Well, you all did a good job."

"All in a day's work." 

"Heard before that you stopped a big bar fight. People are talking."

"Eh, just some assholes who think they're tough shit. No big deal." 

He nods. 

"Interesting place, Martinaise."

"Sure is. Best place to be if you ask me." 

"Seems so. You said the docks are hiring?"

There's some sort of victorious smile that spreads across Titus's face, so proud, so triumphant. "Always."

"Think I'm gonna stick around for a bit."

"We'd love to have you on board. I'll finish this up and then we can go up and talk to Evrart."

He nods.

"In the meantime, why not play the folks a little tune? Lift their spirit?" 

"Sure thing, man."

"Rock and roll this shit!" You smirk then get back to work. 

Seems Titus just caught another fish. He's always been a great fisherman, just like his old man.

Who knows, the musician might actually like it here more than he knows.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
